


Cougar is a bad ass chick

by KByrd



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Drugs, F/M, Gender Role Reversal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KByrd/pseuds/KByrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Losers are a close knit team both on missions and at home. Jensen is their techie expert and he never stops talking. Clay chews smuggled Cuban cigars and flirts with volatile women. Roque collects knives and scares off wimps with his glowering. Pooch can fix and drive or fly just about anything and he’s devoted to Jolene. Cougar is their bad ass sniper who can make the impossible shot and is taciturn and loves chocolate. Oh, and in this story, she’s Carla not Carlos. Set before, during and after the events in the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro to Cougar, sniper

**Author's Note:**

> Never let it be whispered that I don’t like slash – I love slash. Some of my favourite stories are slash … OK. Stopping now. But, I am perpetually frustrated at the lack of women in my favourite fandoms – looking at LOTR, Harry Potter, the Avengers, the Losers, etc. Yes, I know, there’s Aisha in the Losers, but I’ve never been able to ‘get’ her and thus am unable to write her well. To get a woman’s perspective, I either have to create an original character, thus facing accusations of creating a dreaded ‘Mary Sue’ or pull a character from another fandom (which I did in an earlier Loser story when I dropped Darcy Lewis from Thor into the Losers’ world). Or I can try this exercise – take a nice well developed character and see what would happen if the male character were female. I’m influenced by Copperbadge’s portrayal of Tony Stark as Antonia and by a Loser’s fic that had Jensen as female, but really I just like the challenge. So here goes – my gender-bender Losers with Cougar as Carla Alvarez. Enjoy!

"With snipers, you gotta look at their psych records,” Clay grouses, training his binoculars on a cluster of men in army fatigues. “Who the hell cares how well they shoot if they won’t when you want to them and might when you don’t?”

“Uh huh,” Roque grunts, flipping through a folder. “Did you read this?”

“Skimmed it,” Clay admits.

“Really? Might be in for a surprise then.”

“Why? What do I need to know?”

Roque grins and squints at the group of men now lining up with rifles in hand to demonstrate their prowess.

“No red flags, no citations except a warning for being insubordinate ...” Roque notes. “That’s practically a commendation these days.”

“I know!” Clay exclaims, watching as the soldiers below fire in precise order. “Why’s he being recommended? Don’t I just get the troubled ones?”

“Like me?”

“I saved your ass,” Clay insists without heat. “You were this close to going ‘postal’ and ending up dead or in the brig for the rest of your life.”

“Still might,” Roque grins, wolfishly.

“Jeez, he could shoot for the Olympics,” Clay mutters, peering at the target with his binoculars. “Watch. Boom boom. Hits the targets right in the centre every single time.” 

“Well, you wanted someone good,” Roque reminds him.

They watch the demonstration and then walk down the hill to meet their newest ‘recruit’ – one slightly damaged, slightly banged up sniper just returned from back-to-back tours in Afghanistan and Iraq.

“Speaks Spanish fluently,” Clay mutters half to himself, “maybe he just wants to go back to the jungles of South America. Maybe he volunteered.”

Roque smirks.

They walk down the hill.

The sniper is of medium height, shorter and slighter built than the two older men on either side. Wearing cowboy boots, faded baggy jeans, an army combat jacket, and a cowboy hat, he stands casually, hands by his side, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes, but the angle of his head suggesting amusement.

“Hey, I’m Clay,” Clay says extending his hand. Then freezes. “Oh.”

“Cougar,” the sniper answers shaking Clay’s hand.

Roque grins merrily. “I’m Roque,” he says, shaking her hand.

Clay glares at Roque.

“Says _Carla_ right in the folder,” Roque says blandly with a shrug and a smirk.

For a woman, Carla, aka Cougar, is tall, broad-shouldered, spare and angular. You might even mistake her for a man from a distance. But up close, she has large, dark eyes framed with long lashes and a fine-boned face that many a model would envy.

Clay recovers quickly. “So, I’m looking for a sniper for an assignment and your CO mentioned that you might be interested,” he says briskly.

“That’s right,” she says. 

Clay motions that they should talk and walk so they do. He asks her some basic questions – up to date on your tropical vaccinations? Done your required first aid courses? 

He finds that she’s taciturn, but polite. She answers each question in minimalist fashion and volunteers no extraneous details.

Clay switches to Spanish to test her and he’s not surprised at her fluency. Her English is excellent, but there’s a hint of an accent that tells him that it’s not her first language.

He’s left with a nagging feeling that he can’t quite shake. Everything checks out and yet …

“We’re going to be in the jungle for a while,” he warns her, not sure himself what he’s really saying. “Rough conditions.”

She shrugs. “I’ve camped before,” she says coolly.

“It’s an all male team,” Clay admits. “You gonna be alright with that?”

For once, she gives him a cool sideways look. “Are you warning me against anyone in particular?” she asks softly. “Is someone on your team someone I should worry about?”

“God no,” he backpedals quickly.

She nods. “Well, then I don’t think it will matter. I can usually take care of myself.” She touches her arm lightly and he has no doubt that she’s armed.

“OK then.”

**

The first mission goes well.

Cougar has a dry, understated wit. She stands back and observes most of the time, but cracks the occasional joke that demonstrates a clear understanding of each member.

And she does the job she was brought in for - beautifully.

"Damn that girl can shoot," Pooch exclaims in delight. "We got to keep her outta Clay's clutches."

Roque laughed. "As far as I can tell, she's too sensible to interest him. He likes a little crazy mixed in with his lethal."

She bunks down with the guys and plays cards with them. And cheats like no-one's business.

"How the fuck are you doing this?" Roque swears furiously, as he throws down another hand of losing cards.

"Doing what, sir?" she smiles as sweet as sugar.

Pooch and Roque take her with them on the night before the last night for a last bar crawl. 

She wears the same thing she's worn every day of the mission, a pair of faded blue jeans (maybe the same pair), combat boots, a man's T-shirt (not the same one every day, but the same type - boring faded plain style) and her cowboy hat.

Her only concession to going out is an impressive set of multiple rings adorning both hands. They are a little out of character, but hey ...

Roque kinda half wishes she'd dress up a bit for a night on the town, but it doesn't seem to matter to the locals. They see a young Hispanic woman out on the town with two black dudes and they jump to conclusions. Not nice conclusions.

When the night is young and most people are mostly sober, the nasty comments are quiet and mostly muttered behind people's backs. Roque glowers; Cougar pretends not to notice.

As the night wears on, all parties get drunker, the comments get louder and more pointed and cruder.

And Roque starts sliding his thumb menacingly along the handle of a knife he has tucked away.

Pooch and Cougar are at the bar waiting for their drinks. 

Roque has gone to the little boy's room.

And a very large, very drunk, very tattooed gentleman decides to take liberties, running his hand down Cougar's back as if he owns her.

He leans into her, breathing whisky fumes into her face. "Hey doll," he slurs, "you charging extra for the black Yankee bastard or do you just have a thing for big dicks? Cause I got me one that can make you scream."

She pushes him away firmly and eyes his crotch. "Pretty clear you're overcompensating with BIG talk."

"Fucking bitch," he snarls, reaching out to grope her breast.

She blocks him smoothly.

Pooch scowls and steps around her. "Back off buddy," he growls.

The man snarls something in Spanish and Cougar responds in the same language with a filthy comment - something about using his teeny tiny dick as a toothpick? Pooch's Spanish is good, but not THAT good.

The guy swings at Pooch who ducks easily and Cougar pushes him back into a bar stool.

Then men are yelling, fists are flying, Pooch can hear Roque's roar from across the room, but he's busy fending off the nasty tattooed dude and one of his buddies. Cougar levels a guy with a southpaw punch that her opponent never saw.

And the brawl that's been brewing all evening is on.

**

Later, they're lounging on a park bench tending to their minor wounds.

Cougar is gently pulling off her rings before her fingers swell up. At least one finger is probably broken, but otherwise, she's mostly unhurt.

"That was fun," Roque declares.

"I dunno," Pooch says wearily. "I might be getting too old for these kind of shenanigans."

"Thanks," Cougar says and they're so used to her silence that they both stare at her. "Appreciate your coming to my rescue," she says softly. "But you got to let me fight SOME of my own battles or else the bastards think I'm just a girl who needs protection."

"That's why you waited until Roque was ... elsewhere," Pooch guesses.

She nods and shrugs.

 

Clay hollers at them some, but without heat. He's pleased with how well Cougar fits in and there's just one more test for her to pass.


	2. Jolene is an honorary Loser

Jolene is pretty much an honorary Loser.

 

Not that she would have been a Loser had she stayed in the military – she was an exemplary soldier while she served.

She understands the military life and she understands that to survive and thrive as a military wife, she needs a network. So she builds one.

In every city where Pooch has been stationed, Jolene is able to find work in her field, nursing. And she’s quickly become the den-mother / confessor to a rag-tag group of colleagues and neighbours.

And the hostess of too-many-to-count parties and BBQs and late night dinners.

After their first successful op with Cougar when it looks like Clay is seriously considering adding her to his squad, Pooch invites the team to a BBQ at his house.

The 'Jolene' test is Cougar's final exam before Clay makes membership on the Losers official.

Clay arrives in a banged up pick-up truck that looks like he might have found it abandoned by the side of the road. He’s bearing an enormous platter, a bottle of wine, and a six pack of beer.

“Well met, boss,” Pooch greets him cheerily, liberating the beer.

Roque arrives in the company of a lady called Sheila who owns and runs a very nice restaurant across town. They don't live together, not do they describe each other as anything but 'friends' and Roque is not above entertaining ladies when he's on the road, but here at base, they pretty much keep company.

Invite one; the other is likely to attend.

Cougar shows up alone, bearing an enormous platter of cookies. Jolene quickly enlists her to help in the kitchen and they hit it off.

They bond over the dogs.

They compare stories of life on the road.

They plan to run together.

Pooch is more relieved than he wants to let on. Jolene is not necessarily a possessive type, but Pooch could imagine that she'd be a little concerned with him spending so much time in close quarters with another woman.

Now it dawns on him that if Cougar and Jolene become friends, his antics on the road might just become fodder for gossip.

He can't win.

But Clay takes Jolene's approval to heart and makes Cougar an official member of his ragtag group.

 

    

 


	3. Adding Jensen to the mix

 

 

Pooch is the go-to guy for all things mechanical and electrical. Hence he’s the one manning the comms while the team is setting up surveillance in yet another dry, dusty foreign country where they barely speak the language.

Along with the usual team members, there are three ‘borrowed’ soldiers lugging gear into positions.

Roque is on point.  He’s the senior officer so he’s in the best position to watch them set up.

Pooch hesitates, his fingers poised over the keyboard of the laptop. “What the ..?”

˂ _“… are you friendlies?” ˂_ Text scrolls across the screen

Pooch types back, “Who is this?”

_“Never mind. You’re about to get your asses kicked. Miscommunications at HQ. Heavy duty bombs on their way.” ˂_

“Excuse me?”

˂ _“Seriously. Believe me and you still have time to save yourselves. Doubt me and you’re … deead.” ˂_

“Proof?” Pooch types.

He looks up idly at his crew setting up in the valley below him and at the empty blue sky. This has to be a joke, right?

The screen suddenly flickers and flashes and then several screen shots appear.

“How the hell?” Pooch mutters. He sees an email exchange between two grunts at HQ apparently discussing the hit. He sees coordinates of the flight crew’s destination. Oh crap. The coordinates are exactly where they are. He checks the time, ETA less than five minutes.

Pooch has not survived as a Loser for as long as he has without trusting his instincts. He’s on the comms to his team calling on them to bug out. “Leave the gear, leave the stuff, just run like hell,” he advises grimly.

Clay is bitching even as he rounds the guys up.

One of the rookies grabs one of the big bags and Roque cuffs him about the head. “Pooch says, ‘run’ you run!” he snarls.

The kid drops the bag and hustles.

Pooch tucks his laptop under his arm and boots it.

"Incoming," Cougar warns through the comms. She's on a hill about two miles away and can do nothing but watch.

Before he’s even had time to second guess himself, Pooch hears the low, soft drone of the engine of a military plane. Oh crap.

Everyone else can hear it too. Their flying feet gain more speed and then they’re jumping and ducking behind the old stone sheep’s shed that they’d earlier identified as being unusable.

The hum of the approaching engines grows into a growl that deafens them. Pooch buries his head in the ground and covers his ears and neck with his hands.

There’s a roar and then then a thud and a flash of bright light as the sound wave hits them like a physical blow.

After a few long, scary minutes, Pooch sits up gingerly and takes stock. There’s smoke rising only a few hundred feet from them – pretty much right where they had been setting up their gear. Luckily there’s no fire.

Clay is taking attendance and checking that everyone is OK. One of the rookies is muttering about his lost iPad, but even to Pooch’s ear, it sounds like post-shock bravado rather than genuine grousing.

Another is shaking his head gingerly and dabbing at blood on his ear.

Roque is glaring at Pooch. “What the hell just happened?” he growls darkly.

“Fuck up at HQ,” Pooch answers shortly. “Thought we were hostiles.”

“Where’d the warning come from?” Clay asks, his voice deceptively soft.

Pooch boots up his laptop and starts to revive the previous conversation. Roque leads the rookies out to survey the damage.

Pooch points at the screen shots and explains as best he can.

“So this guy just popped out of no-where to warn you?” Clay mutters uneasily.

“Um yeah.”

“Can you find out who he is?”

Pooch hesitates, wondering just how he’ll do that.

Then suddenly, a message pops up. _˃ “You still there?” ˂_

Pooch types: “Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”

“No prob,” the mystery hacker answers. “We grunts gotta keep our eyes open for fuck ups in HQ.”

“Who are you?” Pooch types.

“No-one.”

“Come on, I owe you a beer at the very least.”

“I’ll look you up if we’re even stateside at the same time.”

“Are you stateside now?” Pooch asks.

“Can’t tell you.”

“Is he hacking into a secure military channel?” Clay asks in annoyance.

“Yup.”

Clay gets mad. “Tell him that he’d better identify himself to me.”

Pooch hesitates. “If he cuts me off, I have no way to track him down,” he points out. “He reached out to me.”

Clay glowers.

“How do I find you again?” Pooch types.

“You don’t,” the hacker responds. “I’ll reach out to you if you’re ever targeted again.”

“That’s not good enough,” Pooch protests.

But the hacker is gone.

 

**

 

Later Pooch suspects that it was that incident that made Clay decide that he wants a dedicated tech on his team.

So the Losers start their search. Every time they leave the country on assignment, they take a new tech with them. Some of the new guys can’t handle Roque’s menacing juggling of knives; some are less capable of handling comms in third world countries with sporadic access to networks; and some decide that the chaos of life on the road isn’t worth it.

So Pooch remains their go-to guy.

He’s scratching his head and swearing under his breath in a dingy motel room in some far away place as he tries to track down their target when a message pops up on his screen: “Miss me?”

“Hello?” he types back. “Who is this?”

“Guy who saved your bacon a couple of months ago.”

“Still don’t know your name,” Pooch answers craftily. “Are you stalking me?”

“No – but what’s with all the loser tech dudes? Are you recruiting?”

“We are,” Pooch admits. “You interested?”

“Not likely.”

 

**

 

They’re back in the jungle, in the pouring rain, huddled in a banged up truck that’s older than any of them. Pooch is at the wheel, Cougar is slouched in the seat next to him looking as wet and unhappy as her namesake big cat and Roque is in the back waiting for Clay.

And where is Clay? Standing on the gangplank of the plane that just landed having a rousing argument with another CO, both waving their arms around in a parody of an Italian opera.

Pooch yawns and fiddles with the radio, hoping beyond hope that a new radio station has popped up since the last time he searched the airways. Cougar swats his hand away and flicks the dial to a station playing tacky Spanish pop.

“Seriously?” Pooch complains.

“Everything else is scratchy,” she snaps. “Bad music is better than static.”

“Humph.”

The back of the truck opens and Clay peers in scowling. “Got room for one more?” he asks.

“Only if he’s very small,” grunts Roque, hunched over and crammed among bags and boxes.

“Nope,” says a new voice cheerily. “I guess we’ll just have to cuddle up.” A new guy, big, husky, blond, young with a spiky military haircut and a goatee tosses a duffle bag into the bag and climbs in. Clay follows.

Pooch grunts and puts the truck in gear. The truck groans and bumps along the dirt road, splashing through puddles, its windshield wipers leaving streaks and scratches on the glass.

The rain is never-ending, the radio splutters and fades in and out. Pooch and Cougar ride along in companionable silence but they can hear the steady chatter in the back of the truck. Apparently the new guy is a talker. They munch on dried fruit for lunch but keep driving.

It’s late and dark and everyone is hungry when they finally make it to their destination – a gloomy, damp blink-and-you’ll-miss-it huddle of huts in the middle of the jungle.

Roque and the new guy jump out at a restaurant to rustle up some food; Pooch drives to the pension and lets Cougar get out to negotiate the price. She gets back in grumpy and irritable.

“Flood,” she says bluntly. “Can’t stay here.” She guides Pooch around the town to a run-down motel on the edge of town that looks like it’s been closed for years.

“Think we’ll fit in the bed of the truck if this doesn’t work out?” Pooch mutters.

She glares balefully. “Someone might end up camping in the rain.”

But luckily, the old motel has two rooms - four beds and hasn’t clued in to the other motel’s predicament so it’s not overcharging. Pooch drops Cougar off and goes back to find the pair with the food.

So they crowd into a damp, dingy motel room, shaking off their wet coats and dumping their wet boots in a corner. Cougar grabs one of the take out containers and settles on one of the beds.

Clay makes belated introductions. “This here is Jackson, sorry Jamison?”

“Jensen,” the new guy corrects him with a grin.

“Jensen,” Clay acknowledges. “New tech.”

Pooch nods at him. “I’m Pooch, that’s Cougar over there.”

The new guy is big and blond and young. He grins, eyes sparkling despite the rain and the dark motel room. “Hey!” he says cheerily to Cougar. “You’re a girl, I mean a woman, I mean holy cow!”

Clay scowls “Gonna be a problem?”

“Hell no,” he assures the team cheerily.

Roque rolls his eyes. “Never stopped talking, the whole trip,” he says grumpily. “And never said a damn thing worth hearing.”

The kid scowls, but playfully. “I said plenty worth listening to. You coulda kept up your side of the conversation.”

Clay snorts. “Colonel Bedson says he’ll fit right in,” he says meaningfully.

Pooch makes a face. “What did you do, kid? Burn down an orphanage? Bedson usually has pretty high tolerance.”

“You wound me,” Jensen says playfully. “I was told this was a promotion – you know, explore tropical paradises, enjoy fine dining – all on the US government’s dime.”

They chuckle and toast him with beer and bad take out.

**

 

For whatever reason, Jensen fits it.

He is unfazed by Roque’s threats and even challenges him to a knife throwing contest. He shrugs philosophically when he loses.

He loses money in every card game they play, but manages to make the games entertaining with constant chatter.

He helps Pooch cook a halfway decent meal, but gives Pooch all the credit.

And he can handle comms – setting up without complaint. Well, with plenty of complaints, but realistically working with what he’s got.

The mission lasts a month; it hardly stops raining the whole time and by the end of it, despite Roque’s threats to castrate the kid, Clay is satisfied that he’ll fit in. He made temperamental equipment work, his voice was a lifeline in their ears as they worked and he knew what was expected of him with an ease that spoke of extensive experience in the forces.

The only wild card is Cougar – or rather how Jensen acts around her. He’s clearly smitten, or fascinated, or something. He follows her around and chatters to her incessantly, filling up the silent spaces around her.

She tolerates him, ignores his innuendo, and looks mildly amused when he loses at cards. He makes no indication that he has figured out how much she cheats.

Clay watches, waiting to step in if necessary but prepared to let them work out it.

 


	4. Jensen meets Jolene

Several days after returning to base, Cougar arrives at the shooting range to find Jensen waiting for her. She gives him a sideways look as he falls into step beside her.

“So Clay says he wants me to work on my shooting,” Jensen explains guilelessly.

Cougar nods, that’s one of Clay’s firm requirements for any Loser. Everyone has to be able to shoot well.

“So, I figure,” he babbles on, “that I’d just tag along and see what you do and maybe you can give me some pointers … I mean, I know you’re not an instructor or anything, but you’re a pretty hot shot, I mean you’re pretty good …”

Cougar rolls her eyes but offers no comment and they make their way up the hill to the blind.

“It’s pretty windy out,” Jensen observes.

“Uh huh.”

“And rainy. Doesn’t that make shooting tougher?”

Cougar shrugs. “Can’t control the weather on assignment. Might as well as practise in bad conditions.”

They are almost the only ones at the range.

Cougar sets up, tunes out Jensen's babble with a bit of effort and demonstrates her shooting skills. She'd never admit it, but it's gratifying to receive Jensen's effusive praise.

"Your turn," she indicates.

And he doesn't complain, merely breaks out his own army issue rifle and sets up. He shoots half decently, considering the weather.

Cougar leans over him as he settles on his belly, whispering in his ear, "Watch the way the grass blows - you won't have wind socks in the field."

"Mmm," he answers and shoots way wide.

She chuckles.

"Fuck," he complains. "I didn't do that to you. Very distracting."

"You talked," she points out.

"Fair enough," he mutters and sets up again. This time he shoots better even when she puts a hand on his shoulder and makes him twitch.

"Better," she smiles.

"So, how often do you come up here?" he chats as they walk back down the hill.

She shrugs. "Different places, shake things up."

"Yeah, OK. But how often do you practise?" he asks.

"Four, five times a week."

He whistles appreciatively.

And then when they're in the parking lot, he asks if she'd like to join him for a hot drink and maybe lunch, at a nearby restaurant.

She sighs.

"What?"

"Here's the deal," she explains bluntly, "I gotta watch myself and you gotta respect the boundaries."

"I'm not ... I'm just ..."

"I'll go for drinks and watch a game and play some pool with you just as you'd do with Roque or Pooch, but if you're inviting me out to dinner like you'd do with a girl you'd like to flirt with, then 'no'. I gotta say no. That's the line."

"I'd invite Pooch to lunch with me," Jensen insists.

"Imagine I'm your sister," Cougar says firmly.

"I have a sister."

"There you go," she smiles. "Then you know how to act. Pretend I'm your long lost sister. You don't look at your sister when she is all dressed up and think 'gee, I'd like to bang that, but I know I can't' ..."

"Gross!" Jensen groans.

"Exactly," Cougar looks pleased.

"You've just ruined my life. How can I ever look at my sister again?"

Cougar sighs. 

 

**

Between back to back missions and Jolene's new schedule, it's a few weeks before Jensen makes it out to one of Pooch's BBQs.

He arrives bearing an enormous casserole dish and is immediately escorted to the kitchen to meet Jolene.

"Hey," he says nervously to one of two lovely women working in the kitchen. "The famous Jolene. Pooch raves about you, but he doesn't do you justice."

The girl who took his casserole smiles. "You're a sweetie, but I'm Sylvie. This here is Jolene."

Jensen reddens and offers his hand to Jolene. "Just what I said ... Oh wow."

She laughs and pulls him into a hug. "I've heard a lot about you tech boy."

"Ooh yikes," he mutters, "that's never a good sign."

She hands him a spoon. "Stir," she orders, "I'd like to know a little more about you."

He grabs the proffered spoon and grins nervously.

Jolene starts her interrogation.

"Married?"

"No ma'am."

"Ever?"

"No."

"Girlfriend? On again - off again friend with benefits?"

"Err ..."

"Boyfriend?"

"No!"

"You like girls?"

"Uh yeah. Are you supposed to ask about ...?"

"I'm not in the military any more," she reminds him. "I can ask you anything."

Jensen staggers out into the sunshine about half an hour later feeling that he's just bared his soul. It should be later, he thinks. Dark.

"I just ... I just," he mutters to Pooch manning the grill, "your lady Jolene ought to be in special forces conducting interrogations. I'm rendered ... speechless."

"And yet," comments Roque, lounging in a deck chair with a beer in his hand, "you're still talking."

"It's all relative," Jensen insists.

Jolene has invited a whole crowd - colleagues from work and neighbors and friends. Someone offers Jensen a beer and he collapses gratefully into a plastic chair.

Cougar lounging in the deck chair next to Roque takes a drag on her cigarette and salutes him with her beer and a Mona Lisa smile.

"What's the verdict?" Pooch asks

"Dunno," Jensen says.

"I need to meet his sister," Jolene says seriously, coming out briefly to put chips and dip out on the table.

"What?" Jensen yelps. "I'm not joining the CIA. I don't need top secret clearance."

Roque grins.

"Am I? Do I?" Jensen insists. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Jolene shrugs. "It's a small team and you live in each other's pockets. You gotta get along."

She goes back inside and Jensen digs into the chips.

He chats for a bit with some of Pooch's neighbors who probably have very little idea of what he does other than go away for long periods of time. They're under the impression that he might be a pilot.

Dimly Jensen becomes aware of Roque's conversation with Cougar - or rather the one sided flow of advice that Roque bestows upon her. 

At one point, Roque suggests that Cougar might consider improving her wardrobe. "You're not bad looking," he says seriously, "but you could wear some more ... you know ... _nicer_ clothes."

"Why?" Cougar asks softly as if she's genuinely curious.

And Jensen may be awkward around the ladies but he can recognize quicksand when he sees it. Actually to mix the metaphors, listening to Roque just now is like watching a guy cross a frozen river when you know the ice isn't thick enough to hold his weight. It's just a matter of waiting for the crack.

Roque blusters. "You know, you'd just look better, nicer. You're kinda pretty or could be if you put in some effort."

Cougar snorts. "You tell all your teammates this sort of thing? Did you tell Pooch that he should wear tighter jeans so we can all admire his ass?"

Roque scowls, "you're taking what I said all out of context."

"What am I?" Cougar asks rhetorically, "some kind of decoration for your viewing pleasure?"

"No."

"Well then," she says firmly as if the matter is settled.

"I'm just not sure you realize ..." Roque says as if he can't recognize the thin ice.

She quirks an eyebrow. "I don't know what kind of 'message' I'm saying with my choice of attire?"

Roque fumbles. "Just telling you what guys like."

"As if I don't know," Cougar says sarcastically.

"Problem?" asks Sheila coming out with a bowl and a peeler.

Cougar points her thumb at Roque and says, "fashion advice."

Sheila snorts. "Just what you need."

Roque growls. "I'm just saying ..."

Sheila points. "Shut up and peel."

"OK. OK," Roque mutters mulishly.

"I've seen Cougs in yoga pants," Sheila says idly. "You'd never get any work done if she wore them around all the time."

"Why doesn't she have a task?" Roque grumbles. "She's a Loser, too."

Sheila eyes Cougar. "The message I get from what she's wearing is that she'd like to be treated like a guy - hence, no kitchen work for her." She turns on her heel and returns to the house.

Cougar sighs and climbs out of her lounge chair. She heard that rebuke loud and clear.

Jensen eyes her as she goes by. True enough, he can't tell what her figure might be under those baggy jeans, but he can imagine.

She notices his attention.

His brain thinks that discretion would be a good strategy but his mouth says, "Yoga pants, huh?"


	5. Jolene meets Sarah Jensen

When Jensen's sister, Sarah, comes into town, Pooch invites her to meet the team at a club where Jolene is singing.

Actually, it's more like Pooch press gangs the whole team into coming out to support Jolene on pain of death.

Jolene is a nurse. It's a great job, very portable. She loves her job.

But she's also a singer. It's not a career, but maybe it could turn into something more than just a hobby so she's here at this festival, singing. And Pooch is wildly enthusiastic and supportive. He's busy selling tickets to her performance and threatening everyone who says 'no' with hell and damnation.

So the Losers are out in force and even though they're better dressed than usual, they still look dangerous as a group so the manager of the rather nice club keeps peeking at them from behind a curtain and wondering if he'll still have chandeliers in the morning.

Jensen makes the introductions and from the way Sarah lingers over Cougar, she knows that he's been talking about her.

As a concession to the rather fine club, Cougar's not wearing her hat. Instead, she's pulled her fine dark hair into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. And she's wearing earrings and a long skirt and dress shoes. But she still looks like what she is - a tough as boots soldier in the US army - more used to mud and grime than fine restaurants and clubs.

She nods politely to Sarah and Sarah smiles warily back.

Shortly after they order drinks, Jolene steps onto the stage.

"Here she is!" hisses Pooch in excitement. 

And she's good. Her opening banter is a little shy, but once she opens her mouth and starts to sing, she has the audience in the palm of her hand.

Jolene grew up singing gospel, not because her parents were especially religious, but because she loved to sing. As an adult, she's switched to folk music, but her blues background comes in loud and clear. Tonight she's singing mostly covers of well known songs, but as she gets more confident, she throws in a few of her own compositions.

Her voice is throaty and strong; her lyrics moving.

At the end of her set, she thanks the audience and waves. 

Pooch jumps to his feet, clapping wildly and indicating that everyone else should stand too. He glares daggers at the only table that doesn't stand until they get his message and join in the standing ovation.

"Wasn't she great?" Pooch babbles. "I mean, she was great, right?"

"Wonderful, wonderful," the Losers assure him.

"Amazing, holy cow ..." he beams proudly. "I gotta go back ... I gotta go back to see her, tell her how amazing she was. She was great, wasn't she?"

"Great," Roque growls.

Pooch makes his way back stage.

Since the musical part of the festival is now done, couples head out to the dance floor and start dancing to lively swing music.

"Ooh," Sarah murmurs, eyes shining. "Been a while since I've seen 'real' dancing."

"Do you dance?" Roque asks her.

"A bit," she admits. "I took ballroom dancing for a while."

"Well then," he says rising. "Care to dance with me?"

"0h ..." she looks quickly at her brother who scowls, but in a token way. 

She takes Roque's hand and follows him to the dance floor.

"Do you dance?" Jensen asks Cougar.

"No."

"Really? It's kind of part of your culture, isn't it?"

She looks amused, one eyebrow quirked.

"I mean, sorry. That came out all wrong."

"I know how to dance," Cougar clarifies, "but I prefer a partner who won't step on my feet."

Jensen frowns and opens his mouth so say that he won't step on anyone's feet, but Clay beats him to the punch. Rising, he extends his hand to Cougar and gives a little bow. "Come on twinkle toes," he says drily. "Let's show 'em how it's done."

She can't say 'no' to her CO so she sighs, put down her drink, and joins him on the dance floor.

Pooch and Jolene appear looking suspiciously rumpled and pleased with themselves. They gulp down a couple of drinks and then join the throng on the dance floor, leaving Jensen to nurse his drink and watch everyone else.

Of course they can all do these Latin dances. You don't spend as much in South America with as much down time as the Losers get and not pick up on certain aspects of the local culture.

For a big guy, Roque is pretty light on his feet and he's being very careful to steer Sarah safely around the dance floor.

Cougar can dance, just as Jensen had suspected, and Clay's got moves that have other dancers on the floor doing double takes.

Pooch and Jolene are out of sight, but Jensen can track their whereabouts just from the motion of the crowd.

Roque and Sarah return hot and sweaty and breathless.

"That was fun," Sarah says, "thanks."

"My pleasure," Roque smiles.

The music has changed to something like a rhumba and Cougar and Clay have switched partners. Cougar is dancing with a tall, thin man who holds her very tight. Jensen expects her to be annoyed at the close contact but she looks relaxed.

And they are literally pressed together at the hips as they rhumba.

They finish their dance, the gentleman kisses her hand extravagantly and she returns to the group table. Pooch and Jolene return laughing and holding hands.

Clay takes his dance partner, a tiny blond lady, back to the bar where they continue to chat. Roque scowls.

"Who's the chicka with Clay?" he asks.

The Losers turn as one to peer at the lady.

"She looks normal," Pooch says worriedly.

"No visible tattoos," Roque mutters.

Cougar nudges Roque; he nods thoughtfully and without a word being said, they've formulated a plan. They get up and wander over to Clay and his new lady friend. Cougar acts just a little drunk as she leans over Clay, laughing a bit as she pats his shoulder and snags a napkin from the bar. The blond lady glares at her, apparently mistaking her for a rival.

Both retreat to the group table. Roque carefully wraps up a glass and slides it over to Jensen. "Fingerprints," he says.

"Thanks man," Jensen grins. "Be even easier if I had a name."

"Yolanda Panchyshyn," Cougar says. "According to the license in her purse."

"Brilliant," Jensen says whipping out his smart phone and tapping in the name. "Russian?"

"Central European, not Russian," guesses Roque.

"Polish or Ukrainian," Cougar agrees.

"Preliminary search isn't turning anything up, but I'll run a more comprehensive search when I get home," Jensen says.

"Is all this necessary?" Sarah asks.

"Yes," her brother assures her. "Clay has REALLY bad taste in women. She's probably an escaped axe murderer."

"Looks like he's getting lucky tonight," Pooch observes.

Pooch, Roque, Cougar and Jensen all look at their watches.

"What's that all about?" Sarah asks.

"Nothing," Jensen says guiltily.

Jolene glares at Pooch who rolls his eyes. "I just count! You know I'm not in on it."

Sarah remains puzzled, but Jolene pats her hand. "I'll explain in the morning. We're meeting for coffee, right?"

Jensen scowls. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

**

Whatever Sarah tells Jolene, Clay decides to keep Jensen.

It's Roque who gives him the news (jury is still out as to whether the news is truly 'good' or a sentence to crazytown). And he lays out Loser specific rules - number one is don't provoke anyone into shooting anyone else on the team.

"Sounds like a good rule," Jensen agrees in amusement.

"Yup," Roque says laconically. "And in your case, doubly important. Repeat after me - I will NOT hassle Cougar."

"I don't ..."

Roque looks menacing.

Jensen sighs and repeats the statement.

"Good boy," Roque says and hands him a chocolate bar.

"What is this?"

"Positive reinforcement," Roque explains deadpan. "Sheila does it to me all the time. Thinks I haven't noticed."

"I feel so manipulated," Jensen mutters, but he unpeels the bar anyways.

**

The Losers are in yet another Middle Eastern country where they're lying low in a safe house. None of them speak the language well enough to pass as locals, nor do they look enough like locals to pass unobserved.

So they're holed up, eating take out and room service and waiting for the promised action to materialize.

It's a recipe for disaster and they're fending off boredom with increasingly elaborate games.

Jensen pulls up the trailer of an upcoming film on his laptop and shows it around. Roque is dozing, Pooch is trying to nap, and Cougar is reading.

"Looks like a great date movie," grunts Pooch. "Back in the day, before Jolene, I'd have taken a girl to see that."

"Don't know what kind of girls you used to date, but this doesn't look like a chick flick to me," Jensen retorts.

"Used to be a kind of test," Pooch explains, "I'd go to chick flicks, but I kind of wanted them to be willing to go to crash bang action flicks with me. See if they were open to some give and take."

"That how you picked Jolene?"

"Hell no. She likes action as much as I do. More carnage the better."

Jensen grins.

"You should take that girl. What's her name? Sylvie." Pooch suggests.

"Jolene set me up with her," Jensen says thoughtfully. "What do you know about her?"

"I know she has terrible taste 'cause she thought you were 'sweet'."

"I am sweet."

"She said you were a decent kisser and she was sorry you went home so early."

"Kiss and tell is so not cool," Jensen complains. "And then Jolene tells you and pretty soon I might as well take out an ad because everyone knows how my date went. Wait. What?"

Pooch snorts. "She was willing to invite you in, but ..."

"I was being a gentleman!" Jensen explains furiously. "Jolene wagged her finger at me! She said Sylvie had just left a nasty ex husband. Man though. How was I to know?"

"Women," Pooch laments. "You just never know what they mean."

"I need a guidebook or something," Jensen says. "Woman speech translated for men."

Cougar kicks his leg - hard.

"Ow!"

"No secret language," she says firmly. "You're reading too much into body language. You want, you ask."

"It's never that simple!" he argues.

"Sure is," she says. "She says 'no', you respect that."

He scowls at her. "What are you reading?"

"Book," she answers.

"Talk about master of the obvious," he says sarcastically. "What's it called?"

"In English? Something like, the 'wandering thief'."

She shows it to him and he plucks it out of her hand, careful to keep her place.

"It's in Spanish," she warns him.

"I read Spanish," he assures her. "Some."

She snorts.

"Nice cover," he says sarcastically. "It's a romance?"

"Kind of."

He reads a page and frowns. "Am I getting this right? It's really ..."

Cougar tries to take it back but he holds the book out of her reach and continues reading. "Holy crap. This is hot stuff."

Pooch looks intrigued. "Like a Harlequin? I never pegged Cougs for the sappy type."

"No, this is hard core!" Jensen laughs. "Here read this. A guy's going down on this 'muchacha' ... There are details!"

Cougar is beginning to look annoyed. "Give it back!"

Jensen flips to another page and chortles in delight. "The whole book is like this. Cougar! You been holding out on us!"

She snatches the book out of his hand.

"You're reading porn," he says in delight.

"It's not," she snaps.

"Walks like a duck," he insists.

"Some of the stories are a bit .. erotic," she admits.

Jensen snorts. "Erotica is lady porn," he says. "Some people just think it's highbrow cause you read it instead of looking at pictures. But really?"

Cougar is too cool to blush, but a bit of pink does touch her cheeks.

"You've been lounging around with three guys in a safe house, reading porn and we never even guessed," Jensen says in delight. "Takes some cool."

"I'm used to tuning out distraction."

"Got any more books like that lying around?" Jensen asks.

She rolls her eyes and points at a stack of well worn Spanish paper books.

Jensen picks out one with a blue cover. 

"That one is about werewolves and vampires," Cougar warns him.

"Like a Spanish version of Twilight?"

"No!" she says disdainfully.

"I might have to read this in private," Jensen says cheerily. "And Clay can't complain because he's been nagging me to work on my Spanish."

"You'll be able to talk dirty to girls from Mexico to Chile," Pooch says in amusement.

"Bonus!"


	6. The ice trip

The mission in the wintery cold woods will always rank up there as one of the Losers' worst.

 

None of them are quite prepared for the cold. They've spent so much time trudging around tropical jungles and deserts that cold has started to seem distant and theoretical.

The ground is frozen solid and slippery as hell. They trudge in single file, cursing when they slip as their heavy bags threaten to unbalance them. Their fingers are numb despite the heavy duty gloves. Their breath creates clouds in the air and fogs up their glasses and freezes as ice on their scarves. None of them can feel their toes any more.

The wind never stops and it cuts through their winter gear as if they were wearing summer t-shirts. Every once in a while a gust of wind, stronger and colder than the rest will whistle through the trees and just about knock them over.

By early afternoon it's already starting to get dark and Clay is thinking that they'll need to find shelter. He had anticipated being closer to their goal by now, but it's better to stop and rest than push on and find themselves making camp in the dark. He orders a halt.

He sends Jensen in one direction to scout and asks Cougar to climb a tree to get a clearer idea of where they are in relation to their maps.

She drops her bag gratefully, takes off one glove and blows fruitlessly on her frozen fingers. 

Clay pats a likely looking tree. It feels solid, frozen hard.

Cougar accepts his boost and clambers up.

One thick branch juts out over the river, which is barely frozen over. They know better than to consider walking on the ice. In some places, it's thick enough to walk on but here, the river is deep and fast-running so black icy cold water gurgles up between the iced over banks.

Cougar is cautious, her numb fingers unable to grasp as well as she'd like. The tree feels stiff and unyielding. Even the branches are slick and icy to the touch.

She tests the big branch, but it hardly moves. She stretches out carefully and brings her binoculars to her eyes.

A gust of wind shrieks and she clings desperately to the slippery branch.

Clay curses below her.

He calls out potential landmarks and she peers through the binoculars.

Yes, she can identify the double hill that's shown on the map. It's further away than they'd like, but she makes a positive ID.

"Any sign of hostiles?" Clay asks.

"Only ones dumb enough to be out here is us," she snarls.

She creeps a little farther out, still peering through the binoculars and without any warning, the branch gives an almighty CRACK and dips suddenly and precipitously towards the river.

Cougar cries out and grabs at something to hold onto.

The branch breaks off completely and tumbles down.

She drops the binoculars and falls into the river, missing the thin ice on the edge and plunging directly into the dark, swirling water.

Cougar is in the river.

Clay yells in horror.

Cougar goes under and comes up spluttering, gasping for air as the shock of the cold forces air out of her lungs.

"Here! Cougar!" Clay calls to her in panic. "Get me a rope!" he yells to Pooch and Roque.

"Don't go in the water!" Roque yells at him.

Clay teeters on the edge of the riverbank, not even quite sure where the river begins.

Pooch grabs some rope and rushes down to stand at Clay's side. Clay starts stripping off his coat and reaches down to remove his boots.

Cougar takes a couple of overhand strokes and grabs at the ice which crumbles at her touch. Pooch throws the rope. It misses and floats past Cougar so he hauls it back in.

"Hold on!"

Cougar tries to climb onto the ice, but it breaks off under her weight and just about causes her to go under again.

"Hold ON!" Roque swears, snatching the rope from Pooch and tossing it to her again.

This time it hits her and she grabs at it.

"Wrap it around your wrist!" Roque bellows.

Clay has both boots off and is removing his heavy duty cargo pants. Pooch puts a hand on his arm in warning.

Cougar wraps the rope around her whole arm and pulls herself a little further on the ice. This time it holds. Roque pulls; Cougar grunts and throws one knee up on the ice, spreading her weight out on the ice. 

Jensen comes skidding down the hill looking panicked.

Roque reaches Cougar and hauls her out of the river, pulling her to her feet.

The whole rescue has taken mere minutes.

Pooch grabs Clay's discarded coat and tries to put it around her shoulders but Cougar throws it off.

"Wet!" she growls, apparently sticking to her philosophy of saying as little as possible in any circumstance.

A gust of icy wind sweeps in and everyone winces.

Cougar almost cries out.

She strips off her soaking wet coat, now more of a hazard than anything beneficial. Her frozen fingers fumble at the clasps on her soaking black combat jacket.

"Here," Roque says roughly, pushing her hands away. "Let me."

Jensen scowls at Clay. "Why are you not wearing pants?"

Clay is hauling his pants on, shivering in the cold. "Thought I might go swimming," he growls.

"We need to get her warm and dry," Pooch reminds them bluntly.

"No kidding," Jensen snorts. "We need shelter." They look around, but there's no room anywhere near to pitch a tent.

Pooch digs into Cougar's bag and comes up with her spare sweater and a pair of dry socks. He tosses the sweater to Roque who pulls it over Cougar's head. He puts the socks on her hands as makeshift gloves and rolls up her wet clothes in a bundle.

She pulls Clay's coat on and reaches to pick up her bag. Clay shivers, puts on his extra sweater and then picks up his bag.

"Let's march!" he orders.

It's twenty minutes or more and Cougar is stumbling on numb legs and trying not to sob in agony when Roque throws up his hand and points to a clearing.

They drop their bags in relief. Cougar is shaking so bad she can hardly stand. There are ice crystals in her wet hair, her lips are blue, and she can't feel her limbs.

Pooch and Jensen don't bother waiting for instructions before ripping open the bag with the tent in it and pulling it open.

"There's not enough space," Pooch mutters in frustration.

"There will be," Roque snarls, flipping the small ax in his hands and stalking off towards the saplings at one side of the clearing.

The tent goes up fast.

Pooch and Jensen are pros and they work fast.

Clay puts an arm around Cougar and leads her inside. She sits on one of the bags, shivering so much that her teeth hurt. Her cheeks ache.

Clay kneels in front of her, fumbling with the frozen laces on her boots.

"We got to get you out of these wet clothes, OK sweetie?"

"M' not sweetie," she mumbles irritably.

Pooch leans over Clay's shoulder. "Remember the winter survival course?" he grins cheekily. "Body heat is what she needs."

"Mm huh," Clay grunts, peeling one of her boots off and dumping out the water. "Go get two sleeping bags and zip them together."

Pooch jumps to obey.

Clay scowls at Cougar. "You hear what he said?"

"Mm huh," she nods, still shivering violently. "Jensen."

"What?"

"I pick Jensen," she enunciates carefully. "To warm me up."

"I think your brain is frozen," Clay mutters, struggling to get her other boot off. "Jensen, you hear that?"

"Sir?" he says uncertainly.

"Strip," Clay orders grimly. "And climb into that double sleeping bag that Pooch is fiddling with."

"My what? Sir? Are you serious?"

"Deadly so," Clay says grimly, helping Cougar to peel her wet pants off. She can hardly stand.

Jensen strips off swiftly, muttering half heartedly about the weird and crazy things he has to do for the team. "Can he even order me to do this?" he grouses, "I mean, sexual harassment anyone?" Pooch rolls his eyes and tosses him the double bag.

By the time Clay has stripped Cougar down to her bra and panties, Jensen is climbing into the double sleeping bag. He's down to his boxers and a T-shirt figuring on that being enough.

"Come here," he invites Cougar with a cheeky grin. "My little frigid one. Let me thaw you out."

Cougar climbs into the sleeping bag and snuggles up to Jensen who wasn't really expecting that. He was anticipating some shyness, some distance. But she's so cold, she doesn't care about modesty anymore. She slides her freezing cold hands under his shirt and he gasps, barely suppressing an unmanly shriek.

"Fuck, you're cold," he complains. "Keep your hands up high. You go any lower and you're gonna freeze some delicate bits."

Pooch and Clay snort and roll their eyes. 

Despite his words, Jensen wraps his arms around Cougar and pulls her closer.

"Can you toss me a towel?" he asks Clay. "Her hair has little shards of ice in it like icicles.

Roque enters the tent in a burst of bitterly cold air. "What the fuck is this?" he growls at the pair snuggling.

"Body heat," Clay answers shortly. "Best way to warm her up."

"Right," Roque grunts sarcastically. 

"Actually I'm pretty chilled myself," Clay says drily, "anyone want to volunteer?"

They chuff and laugh a bit, tension easing.

Clay tosses a towel to Jensen who does his best to awkwardly dry Cougar's hair. 

"Got clean, dry underwear in here?" Clay mutters riffling through her bag.

"Yeah," she says, stuttering a bit, emerging from her cocoon. "Well panties anyways. I don't think I packed an extra bra. Just toss me a dry shirt."

All three men pause.

"What?" she says.

Clay recovers first, tossing her the items she's requested.

Jensen scoots back to give her room but he can't help being acutely aware of what she's doing. God, it is very sexy. And he's just a guy. A guy who hasn't ... well let's not think about how long it's been since he's been in close proximity to a woman wiggling out of wet panties.

He focuses very carefully on lying still and breathing long slow deep breaths. Nothing going on here. No reason for him to be hard and hot and panting. No siree.

For her part, Cougar wiggles out of the wet panties and slips on a dry pair. Then she pulls the T-shirt on. With a quick flick of her wrist, she unfastens her damp bra, slips it off under the shirt and tosses it unceremoniously to Clay who is hanging up all the wet clothes.

"Jeez," Jensen mutters. "Is there some kind of trick to that? Never seen a bra come off that easy."

"Practice," Cougar says succinctly.

"Usually takes me several minutes of fumbling before I give up and beg her to take it off," Jensen admits with a grin.

"I usually ask Jolene to do a little strip tease," Pooch offers.

"I'll bet Roque just pulls out his knife," Jensen suggests. Roque smirks and doesn't contradict him.

Clay sighs and shakes his head. "You just need practice boys," he says in a long suffering voice. "With enough practice ..." He flicks his wrist and mimes removing a bra.

Jensen stays on his back while Cougar snuggles up to him sliding her hands under his shirt again. She's freezing cold and shivering violently but he doesn't want her to notice how hot and bothered he is. She tugs and he finally sighs and rolls over, wrapping his arms around her. He wishes he could keep some space between them ... down there ... but she's pressing every inch of herself to him.

"Sorry," he whispers into her ear. "It'll calm down in a moment."

"Secret," she agrees with a glint in her eye.

"You alright there?" Clay grunts.

Jensen sighs. "You know how some girls put their fucking cold feet on you in the middle of the night and you think, what the hell? This is ten times worse."

Roque snorts. "And no payback, huh?"

"Fuck off," Jensen answers without heat.

Cougar doesn't say anything. Her nose is buried in his T-shirt just below his collarbone; she's still shivering violently and her legs are entwined with Jensen's. Her fingers trace patterns on his chest, under his T-shirt.

He's not quite sure where to put his hands. He rubs her back and she shrugs a bit.

"Gentle," she warns him softly, whispering into his shirt.

"Sorry."

He lets his hand rest on her hip and then slides it under her shirt to the small of her back. He'd never describe her as tiny or delicate - she's almost as tall as he is and tough as nails - but lying like this stuffed into a sleeping bag, he's struck by how slender she is. She's easily half his size, lean and spare, all bone and muscle.

She curls her hands into the hair on his chest.

He sighs into her damp hair, careful not to make any noise that will alert his teammates. Obviously she can feel his body's reaction to her, but he's trusting that she'll keep the teasing to a minimum in light of the fact that he's literally saving her life by acting as a human hot water bottle. Said heat comes with a raging hard-on and pointy nipples, but hey, ...

By the time Pooch has soup and coffee ready, her shivering has lessened.

They sit up and slurp hot liquid. Clay sets a schedule for them to keep watch - leaving out both Cougar and Jensen (who knows he'll pay a price for that favoritism) - and then Cougar snuggles back down into the bag and falls asleep.

"You alright there?" Clay asks Jensen, in a knowing way.

"Toasty," Jensen answers drily. "We should all double up on cold nights."


	7. Mission gone bad

Jensen knows that it’s a bad sign when his CO texts him to pick up Cougar at the airport and ‘keep an eye on her’.

 

She’s back from a mission that she didn’t want to go on.

Clay didn’t want to loan her out.

And Jensen is in contact with an army of on-line bloggers, some of who are gossiping right now about a rumoured ‘incident’ with a sniper in Columbia.

 

You don’t have to be a mathematical genius to put two and two together and get – what the fuck have you done, Cougar?

 

He pulls up at the taxi stand outside the airport and Cougar peels herself off the bench she’s been lounging on, throws her duffle into the bed of the truck, and climbs into the cab. Jensen notes, but makes no comment on the absence of her rifle case.

“Your place or mine?” he leers playfully.

“Bar,” she answers shortly. “I’m dry as a bone.”

“Your wish is my command, my princess,” he prattles cheerfully and tries not to wince as she glares at him. Warnings of bears and of not poking them flit through his brain. She might not have her beloved rifle, but it’s likely she’s still armed. And even if she isn’t, he harbours no illusions about her ability to take him down.

He takes her to a fake biker bar catering to university students who want the edgy feel of a supposed biker bar without the actual sense of danger that tattooed bikers might impart. It’s small and dark and serves alcohol. What else would they need?

They settle at a table and Cougar starts drinking; Jensen talks. Well, it’s not like he’s not used to doing the heavy lifting in any conversation with Cougar, but she’s even more distracted than usual. He tells a funny story about a disastrous date he went on, and gives her a review of a movie he saw, plus a hilarious account of a prank pulled by his poker buddies on their stick-in-the-mud CO …

Roque shows up and orders nachos. “Pooch is sick,” he volunteers, confirming that this is, more or less, a Loser’s intervention.

Clay texts asking for an update.

Jensen texts back – getting a pissed off sniper shit-faced drunk was never on his bucket list. Might be the most dangerous things he’s done since joining the Losers.

Cougar isn’t a big drinker although that fact is not widely known. Usually she alternates one alcoholic drink with one or two non-alcoholic drinks and by the end of the evening, her drinking partners are too wasted to notice.

But today, she’s started with the hard stuff and is working her way through a bottle pretty methodically.

Both Jensen and Roque are being more careful.

The bar isn’t crowded. But it does a pretty brisk business with a steady stream of students and university staff.

Jensen is at the bar, collecting the next round of drinks, when Cougar gets up and approaches. He watches her warily because she’s not looking at him. Instead, her laser beam of attention is focused on a nondescript guy standing somewhat awkwardly at the bar.

“Hey,” she greets him in her trademark husky voice, almost a purr.

“Oh hey,” the guy answers, looking slightly startled.

“You’re the guy from the bookstore, right?” she murmurs.

“Uh huh,” he confirms, looking her up and down from her cowboy boots, faded jeans, plain, not so clean  t-shirt up to her cowboy hat.

Jensen can see the moment when the guy recognizes Cougar (God how could you forget her?). His eyes light up. “You’re that girl,” he says with a grin. “The one that wanted that book …”

She nods, still intently focused on him. “Are you here with someone, or waiting for someone?” she asks bluntly.

“Err no,” he mutters. “Just out for a drink.”

She smiles, ever so slightly, kind of in a cat-looking-at-a-mouse way. “Good.”

“Oh hey,” he says nervously. “Wow. It’s … ah … nice to see you.”

“You invited me to coffee one time,” she reminds him.

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” she says softly.

Which is a damn lie, as Jensen well knows.

“But you might have more luck if you offered me a different kind of drink …” she suggests mildly.

The guy takes a moment to process that statement and then his whole face lights up and he’s frantically snapping his fingers at the bar staff to get their attention.

Jensen takes the drinks back to his table and flops down. “Worst damn line I ever heard,” he grouses to Roque who laughs.

“She doesn’t need a line, she just needs to say – hey, I’m available, you interested?”

“That’s pretty much what she just did,” Jensen mutters.

Roque leans back to take a gander at the pair chatting at the bar. Both he and Jensen check their watches as a matter of habit. 

“He doesn’t look dangerous,” Jensen admits.

“It’s been a long, nasty mission and she looks as tense as a bowstring,” Roque says. “Might be just what she needs.”

“Sure,” Jensen agrees, “but she’s picking up dudes in a bar. If she needed … that … she could have just said.”

“And what would you have done?” Roque teases, “taken one for the team?”

Jensen scowls.

Roque grins. “Might be you’re just not her type. Who is this guy? Smart, nerdy … ? Oh, sorry buddy. That’s just too funny.”

“Wasn’t totally certain that guys were her type,” Jensen grumbles.

“Shhh,” Roque looked amused. “You know you can’t ask that sort of thing.”

“I wasn’t asking,” he retorts. “I was assuming.”

“Just because she wasn’t into you?” Roque mocks him. “That’s an awfully big pool, Jay.”

Jensen pulls out his phone to warn Clay that they’ve failed in their mission to keep an eye on Cougar. ‘The cat got out,’ he texts.

He looks up to check on the pair, but Cougar and the hipster bookseller are gone.

A few minutes later, Jensen gets a buzz from his phone. “Who the hell is Drew?”

It’s a message from Cougar on someone else’s phone saying, more or less, if I don’t come in to work tomorrow, come find me here – and the coordinates.

Jensen shows the message to Roque who smirks.

“Think she’s actually worried?” Jensen asks. “Got bad vibes?”

“She can take care of herself,” Roque answers. “She’s just rubbing your nose in it.”

 

**

 

Dawn finds him lounging in the cab of his truck, head resting on his scrunched up jacket, idly watching the doors on a row of houses in a trendy part of town. He watches Cougar emerge from one apartment, look carefully around.

Jensen flicks the lights of the truck and she walks over, smiling gently.

“You wait here all night?”

“Had to sleep off the booze,” Jensen shrugs. “Didn’t want to risk a DUI going home.”

“Hmm.”

“Want a ride home?’

“Thanks.” She climbs into the cab, rolling her shoulders and settles down. Jensen offers her a bottle of water from the flat under the seat.

She looks relaxed and loose. Jensen’s protective instincts are roused and he wants to grill her and make sure she’s ok and he wants to scare the pants off the hipster bookseller, but he grits his teeth and starts driving, counting in his head to see how long he can bear the silence.

At about six hundred, Cougar stirs. “You want to know what happened on the mission?” she asks.

“Hell yes,” Jensen practically explodes. “I’m like the proverbial cat – just dying here.”

She gives him that quirked eyebrow, sideways look. “Some of it’s classified,” she warns.

“Leave that stuff out,” he suggests. “But I already know some.”

So she tells the story – short and tawdry though it is.

“They set me up in a kind of blind, an old tower,” she says. “Good sightlines, but far from the complex.”

“Uh huh.”

“Gave me food, water, pictures and specs on that target …”

In general, Jensen avoids thinking too hard about certain aspects of Cougar’s job. He brags about how bad ass she is and marvels at her skill set, but the actual use of her skills still gives him pause. Basically, she gets asked to kill people – no trial, no dealing with the messy consequences, just here’s a picture, try not to waste the ammunition.

“Saw him a few times,” she goes on, “big guy, important. Walked around, talked to people. I might have got off a shot a couple of times, but there was always something – a gust of wind, he was just of range, too close to someone else …”

“Uh huh.”

“So after a while, they come to me and they say, oh oops, we gave you bad Intel, that’s not the guy we want.”

“Holy fuck.”

She sighs.

“Bet you were pretty mad, huh?” Jensen says.

“You could say,” she says, as always the master of understatement.

“What did you do?”

“Went ballistic on the CO.”

Jensen can barely imagine her going ballistic. He pulls up at her apartment building and parks at the fire hydrant.

“This could be it,” she says sadly, not looking at him. “End of my career.”

“Maybe not,” he tries to assure her. “What did you say to him?”

She frowns. “Not so much. Pulled out my revolver and shot at him.”

“You did WHAT?”

Black ops troops get a lot of leeway for crazy behaviour and certainly the Losers have pulled more than their fair share of questionable stunts, but …

Cougar rolls her eyes. “At his feet,” she clarifies. “Might have grazed a toe, but that’s it.”

Jensen can’t quite believe what she’s saying. He’s not sure why she’s not in custody – shot at the CO? “Were there witnesses?” he asks faintly.

“Yup – pretty much the whole troop.”

“Oh crap. You’re …”

“In trouble, you think?” she smiles faintly.

“Clay can handle it,” Jensen says desperately.

“Maybe.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Jensen says. “Want me to stay with you?”

“No,” she answers, pointing to a window. “My roommate’s home.”

“Tell me about the guy – the one who wasn’t your target,” Jensen asks. “I can maybe dig something up on him.”

“I don’t know anything,” Cougar says and then she gets out of the truck and retrieves her duffle from the back.

Then she goes back. “It was weird,” she remembers slowly, “they kept checking, kept asking if I knew who he was. They were really anxious.”

“That’s unusual?”

She makes a face. “Why would I know a two bit drug dealer in some random South American country?”

 


	8. Keeping Cougar out of trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, up to now this has been a pretty low key fic, the kind you'd let a teen read without worrying about anything except some naughty language. Here's where I have to warn readers that this story takes a turn to the dark side for the next two chapters. Warning for triggers concerning PTSD, mention of torture and rape.

In the weeks leading up to Cougar's court martial, the Losers do their best to keep her busy.

 

Pooch signs up to run a marathon and drafts her as his morning running mate. Generally they take the dogs who quickly grow to adore her. They bark furiously and leap around her in delight as soon she arrives even when she's at Pooch's place for some other reason - like another BBQ.

Jolene says that she's always wanted to try rock climbing but doesn't want to do it alone so she and Cougar sign up for a twice weekly class at the new gym that's just opened.

It's surprising hard.

Jensen teaches her video games and has long rambling debates (mostly him talking) about why they are not INFERIOR to shooting real guns just because Cougar, with her all real world skill, struggles to shoot straight on a screen, but merely different. 

"Like the difference between ice cream and frozen yogurt," he explains earnestly. "If you see frozen yogurt as a replacement for ice cream, then it's a sad inferior product. But if you see it as an entirely different frozen dessert, then it's pretty darn yummy."

Roque takes her to his gym and teaches her, really coaches her, on how to box. Her secret weapon is that she's left handed so when he tosses her in the ring with some smarmy sexist buddies, she levels them with a southpaw that they never even see.

She still wears rings on her fingers when she's expecting a brawl to even things out, but now she's got real technique to back up her instincts.

Clay chews his smuggled Cuban cigars into shredded pulpy messes and pores over paperwork, trying to figure out which favors he'll have to cash in and which asses he'll have to kiss. The Losers go on two missions without Cougar - both shitty, pointless, mucky trips. None of them complains (much) because they understand, without Clay even saying, that they're building favour with powers that be in case the goodwill needs to be spent.

Jensen spends every spare moment trying to track down the main players in Cougar's incident. The CO turns out to be, not a raving devious madman, but a sad sack, much despised loser of a commander, who is commonly held up as out of his depth when it comes to command. Good soldiers leave his group as soon as they can and most are just waiting for his retirement. 

The 'target' is proving to be elusive and both Clay and Jensen suspect that his identity might be a crucial part.

No-one wants to say it out loud, but they don't really know why she's out instead of waiting for her trial in the brig. Nor why it's taking so long.

They just keep her running and boxing and climbing literal walls.

 

**

 

Jake's sister, Sarah, comes to visit with her little girl, Hannah in tow. The little girl charms everyone and is adopted as a kind of Losers mascot.

Jensen comes home late to his one-bedroom apartment to find Sarah and Jolene and two other women sitting on the floor in his living room playing a board game on his coffee table. There are wine glasses scattered about and two empty bottles sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Hey!" he greets them.

"Shhh," hisses Sarah.

"What?"

"Hannah's sleeping."

"Oh yeah." He's forgotten that Sarah and Hannah are sleeping in his bed while he crashes on the couch.

"We were out at karaoke," Jolene explains, "but Sarah had to come back to relieve the babysitter so we decided to finish up the party here. Hope you don't mind."

"Go ahead," he waves at them while he gets a drink from the fridge, "mi casa es su casa."

"Jolene can really sing," one of the other ladies reports. He's seen her before, but can't remember her name. Jolene collects friends like cat ladies collect strays.

Sarah nods owlishly. Jake wonders how much she's had to drink. "She sang a bunch of Aretha Franklin songs ... amazing!"

"And then that duet with Cougar ..." says the other lady.

"Where is Cougar?" Jake asks. 

All four women suddenly look a little embarrassed. None of them will meet his eye.

He rolls his eyes. "She went home with someone?" he guesses.

"There was this guy ..."

"Football player ..."

"A bunch of them, celebrating a birthday or something ..."

"And he got up and sang this Roy Orbison song ..."

"Wow!"

"And then he pretended it was joke night and he started telling jokes ..."

"Clever jokes with Shakespeare puns ..."

Jensen is amused. Up to now, he's always regarded karaoke as nothing more than a way to be ridiculous when you're wasted, but listening to these women chatter, he's getting the idea that it could be a clever way to pick girls up. If you do it right.

"He was cute AND smart," Sarah says seriously.

"Young," says one of the others. "Still in college probably."

Jolene quirks an eyebrow. "Go Cougar go."

Jensen grins. "And Cougar just walked up to him?" he guesses.

"Before we knew it, they were outta there," Jolene confirms. "She sent me a text."

Jensen snaps his fingers. "Fastest picker-upper in the West," he says with more than a touch of admiration.

"Well I hope she's up for yoga in the morning," Jolene says. "She promised."

"You should join us," Sarah urges Jake. "You'd enjoy it."

He makes a face. "All that ahing and ohming ... not my thing."

"This is pilates," Jolene clarifies. "Less ohm and more stretching."

He grins. "I have to work."

"Tell Clay you're checking out the girls at yoga. He's more likely to accept that as an excuse than you've got a hangover."

 

**

Jensen gets out of work early on Wednesdays and he’s surprised to find his apartment occupied once again when he arrives home.

Sarah is sprawled out on his armchair and Jolene is lounging on his couch – both looking tired and somehow … damp. Hannah is wearing Cougar’s hat and attempting rather unsuccessfully to braid Cougar’s hair while she sits obligingly on the floor.

The kitchen smells of cookies and there’s a mess of bowls, and trays, and spoons scattered all over the counter.

“Wow,” Jake says, getting himself a drink from the fridge. “Yoga really knocked you guys out.”

Sarah waves her hand wearily. “After yoga we went to paintball,” she explains.

“We smoked ‘em!” Hannah pipes up.

“You took a five year old to paintball?”

“She was paired with Cougar,” Jolene answers. “They were deadly.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I played defence,” Cougar says calmly. “Just kept Hannah safe while she picked everyone off.”

“Good thing they didn’t know about your ban. Guess it doesn’t cover paintball?”

Jolene groans. “We should have blindfolded her …”

“I hate to think what Hannah learned,” Sarah murmurs.

The oven dings and Cougar climbs gracefully to her feet and goes to the kitchen to pull out a tray of cookies. She puts a second tray already loaded with drops of cookie dough into the oven and sets the timer again.

Jensen leans over the counter, watching as she removes the hot cookies from the tray and slides them onto a cooling rack. He’d have waited a few minutes; the cookies are so hot and soft that they sink down onto the little bars.

“Hear you had a good time last night?” he says.

“Hmmm … karaoke was fun although I can’t sing very well,” she says.

“Oh yeah?”

She smiles. “If you’re asking about the guy, I didn’t end up going home with him.”

“I wasn’t … that’s not …” He’s aware that his ears are turning slightly pink.

She looks amused. “He was cute. We kissed a bit and then he started talking about his girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Hmm,” she says mildly, dropping spoons of cookie dough on the still hot tray. “Apparently he was quite conflicted. Kept saying how guilty he was feeling, but still … “

“Jerk.”

“Hmmm. I told him to take a hike. I wasn’t going to be the other woman. What is that word in English? Temptor?”

“Temptress,” he corrects her absently.

She scrapes up the last of the dough and offers it to him from the spatula.

He licks the dough and watches while she picks up the last of the cookies in her fingers, clearly intending to eat it. It’s still hot so she drops it onto a napkin and licks the chocolate off the tips of her fingers.

She gives him a sideways look under long lashes.

If he’d met any other woman with lashes that long, he’d have just assumed that they were false, but there’s nothing artificial about Cougar.

She blows on her cookie and then takes a nibble.

“Good?” he asks.

“Hmmm. Ghirardelli chocolate.”

Then she takes a plate of warm cookies into the living room. Jake notices his sister watching him with a knowing look and makes a face at her.

   
**  
 

The night before Sarah and Hannah go home, Jake has a nightmare. Or night terror. Or an episode. Whatever you want to call it.

It might have been triggered by a movie they watched earlier, which had an unfortunate scene of one character threatening another with torture. Jensen never knows what’s going to set him off. He’s seen episodes of 24 that barely caused him a second thought and then he’s experienced panic attacks after mild scenes of anger in family shows.

Usually he makes a judgement call whether it’s worth it to push through while concentrating on his breathing, or whether he has to get up and leave and pull himself together.

Or it might have been latent stress from the imminent departure of his sister and her daughter.

Or maybe stress from the investigation to clear Cougar.

Whatever triggers it, Jake dreams of a firefight with his loved ones trapped in the middle.

And with the maddening illogic of dreams, he’s unarmed and has to physically fight through a crowd of bad guys.

So he shouts and lashes out and flings something across the room and dimly hears Sarah shouting, calling out to him.

It takes him a few minutes to wake, panting and sweating in his own living room, on the floor, clutching a piece of broken glass in his hand. He shifts, still buzzing with adrenaline, listening with hyper acute hearing. Sarah had been calling his name, but now she’s talking to someone else. He strains to hear. He can’t sense anyone else in the apartment and she’s clearly not talking to Hannah.

He hesitates, wets his lips, instinct telling him to stay quiet; common sense telling him that he’s probably safe. “Sarah,” he calls out, his voice raspy.

She appears in his sightline, cautious, holding a phone to her ear. “Jake?”

“Who are you talking to?” he asks, fear spiking through him again.

She crouches down carefully as if dealing with a wounded animal. “Are you OK?”

“Stupid question,” he grunts.

She’s distracted for a moment, listening to the person on the line.

“Who?” he demands.

“Cougar,” she explains, holding out the phone. “You want to talk to her?”

“Yeah,” he snatches for the phone, aware again of his breathing, harsh and rapid as if he’s been running. “Hey.”

Sarah gets up and he can hear her moving into the kitchen, flipping on the small light. He’s glad she hasn’t flooded the living room with light. As his eyes adjust to the dimness, he can see that he’s overturned the heavy coffee table and broken a vase. Shards are scattered on the floor.

“Hey,” says Cougar on the phone, her own voice throaty and thick with sleep.

“Sorry,” he says, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Good thing Sarah was there,” she says softly. “This happen often?”

“No,” he answers. “Not since …” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe that trip to Nicaragua? About a year ago?”

“That was drugs,” she remembers. “You been toking up with a kid in the house?”

“No!”

“Course not,” she soothes. “How are you feeling now?”

“Stupid.”

“Mmm,” she says gently. “Tell me what happened?”

“Can’t,” he admits.

“S’ok,” she says. “Want me to come over?”

“No.”

He can hear Sarah getting pots out of the cupboard and he wonders what she’s making.

Cougar talks and he listens. It’s a weird juxtaposition of their usual interaction. She checks that he’s not injured. Did he hurt Sarah? Accidently hit her?

No, she’s smart enough not to come near when he’s flailing about.

She reminds him that they’ve all experienced these kinds of episodes. Remember Pooch sleepwalking? No-one likes to share a room with Roque because he sleeps with knives under his pillow and is especially scary when he freaks out.

“What do you dream about?” he asks.

She hesitates a long time. “I can’t say,” she answers. “It’s too …”

He knows what she does for a living. He can imagine.

Pooch is their transport guy. He dreams of crashing – driving off a cliff with the team in a van or flying into the side of a building.

He takes a long, shuddery breath.

Cougar chats, asks him innocuous questions. He climbs shakily to his feet, tosses the shard of glass in the trash can and pulls the broom out of the closet.

“Leave it,” Sarah tells him, stirring something in a pot on the stove. “I’ll deal with it in a moment.”

He collapses on the couch and surveys the damage, still listening to Cougar’s voice in his ear.

“Is it ever going to be over?” he asks.

“Don’t know,” Cougar says. “Try not to despair.”

“It feels … stupid. Like nightmares are something kids have and here I am …”

“Big macho guy screaming at ghosts?” she teases lightly.

“Hmmm.”

“I think we’re all keeping secrets,” she says. “You don’t know how the big sergeant yelling at his recruits did the night before. Maybe he suffers too, but he keeps it to himself.”

“That’s even scarier,” he complains. “Are you saying that everyone has these terrors?”

“No,” she answers. “I’m saying we don’t know who does, who doesn’t. And we shouldn’t judge. Even yourself.”

“Thanks.”

He hangs up and Sarah hands him a mug of hot chocolate. “Want something extra to help you sleep?’ she asks gently.

“No, I’m not going to sleep any more tonight.”

“Tough day at work tomorrow.”

“That’s the nice thing about having Clay as my boss. On the long list of potential excuses – had a panic attack last night ranks very high as acceptable.”

“Hmmm.”

“Hot chocolate is nice.”

“Cougar’s suggestion.”

“She thinks chocolate solves all problems.”

Sarah smiles; Jake waits for inevitable questions.

“Sorry,” he says.

She pulls him into a hug. “Stop saying that,” she scolds. “You break my heart every time I hear you apologize. I’m so proud of you.”  
 

**

A few weeks after Sarah and Hannah go home, Jensen makes a breakthrough in his investigation. He calls Clay.

Due to the sensitive nature of the investigation, Clay has asked him to work on this at home using heavily encrypted equipment. So Clay drives over and peers over Jensen’s shoulder while he explains his finding.

“Got a picture?” Clay asks.

“Old one.”

“Print it.”

Jensen does.

Clay scowls. “How safe is this set up?” he asks. “If they get a warrant to search this place or seize your gear, can they find what you’re working on?”

“Everything’s secure,” Jensen promises even as he makes a mental note to review security.

They climb into Clay’s truck with the photo and bump over to a bar on the far side of town. Jensen grumbles about the truck.

“What do you spend your hard earned money on?” he mutters. “This is such a piece of crap. Pooch wants to cry every time he sees you driving it.”

Clay snorts. “She gets me where I want to go.”

“But you look like you’re on the edge of bankruptcy,” Jensen points out.

“Screens out people who are interested only in material things,” Clay says mildly.

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Jensen suggests. “Nice girls are scared away by your apparent bad taste and poverty and so you’re left with the crazy chicks.”

The bar is a dive, a real honest to goodness biker bar with a dozen or so Harleys parked haphazardly around the lot. Clay parks defensively in a spot where he can’t be boxed in and with the truck aimed at a clear path to the highway. Jensen recognizes a getaway plan when he sees one.

They walk down into the dinginess and Jensen squints to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. A few people are drinking even though it’s mid-morning, but most are crowded around the pool table in a side room where a game is underway.

A very tall, very attractive woman with a cloud of dark hair and a skimpy, bustier-style blouse is holding court, surrounded by several admirers. The only other woman in the whole bar is preparing to shoot pool. Her back is to the new arrivals. She’s tall and lean and wearing short jean shorts and cowboy boots and a plain white t-shirt. She bends over to shoot and Jensen isn’t the only guy transfixed by the sight of her brightly coloured thong peeking up over the waistband of her short shorts as her t-shirt rides up and reveals a band of smooth dark skin.

Clay snorts and looks grimly amused. 

The woman makes several impressive shots, chooses to try a crazy double knock-back and misses.

The crowd snickers and a man steps up to take his shot.

Cougar turns to Clay and raises one eyebrow. Of course she’d noticed his arrival even with her back to them. Jensen tries not to look too surprised.

Clay motions her over and hands her the photo.

“Yup, that’s him,” she says instantly. “Nice detective work. You know who is he?”

Clay sighs. “It’s an old photo. Will you take a closer look?”

Cougar rolls her eyes, but obligingly takes the photo over the window, tugs the curtains aside to give her some better light and examines the photo carefully.

“It’s him” she says authoritatively. “He’s about what, 20, 21 in this photo? He’s closer to mid 40s now, but it’s the same guy. Shorter hair, going bald, salt and pepper around the temples, new scar on his chin, but the shape of the ears is the same, this mole is the same, same eyes, same jawline …”

“Thanks,” Clay says looking pleased.

She nods.

Clay looks back where Cougar’s partner is preparing to shoot. “I’ll let you get back to your game. Are you winning?”

“Nope,” she says and grins, which surprises Jensen. She’s pretty competitive.

“Well take care,” Clay warns her mildly. “I wouldn’t want to rescue you from military justice only to lose you to biker retribution.”

She shrugs. “It’s only today, not a regular thing.”

Clay nods and leads the way out into the sunshine.

“Ok,” Jensen complains, once they’re on their way. “I know I’m just the stupid white dude, but what the hell was going on?”

Clay smirks. “How would I know? I was only in there for five minutes!”

Jensen glares.

“Best guess?” Clay says. “Did you recognize that chick she was playing pool with?”

“She looked vaguely familiar.”

“Banned from base on suspicion of dealing. Hangs out with biker gangs – as you saw.”

“Uh huh?”

“You’ve seen Cougar play pool before? She’s pretty good.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m guessing that those two were in that bar earlier, maybe a day or two ago, playing really well and winning all the money.”

“Uh huh.”

“Now today, the regulars are expecting them to win, but did you see the big, bearded fellow by the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“My guess is, he’s betting on them to lose.”

“Oh.”

Clay gives him a sideways look.

“So no-one’s noticed because the girls are distracting them with skimpy clothes and thongs,” Jensen guesses.

“What thong?”

“Oh nothing.”

Clay scowls. “First thing I do when I get Cougar out of this mess is get her away from that gang chick. Bad influence.”

“You’re not her father. Might get awkward.”

“Hmph.”

“So how do you get away with shooting your CO?” Jensen asks.

“As your current CO, I’d be a fool to dignify that with an answer,” Clay grumbles.

Jensen grins. “I don’t even think it’s her first time, is it? Her record’s been scrubbed, but I’ve heard rumours.”

“I’m guessing that’s why she was handed over to me,” Clay admits.

“So you could straighten her out?”

“Or else,” he agrees.

“So how does knowing who this guy is get Cougar out of trouble?” Jensen asks. “I mean, she’s going to be tried for shooting at her CO. Her reasons for doing so shouldn’t be a factor.”

“I’m hoping to avoid a court martial,” Clay explains. “Once the powers-that-be hear what’s up, they’re going to be falling over themselves to cover it up.”

“’Cause he’s American.”

“He’s not just an American,” Clay points out. “He’s an American spy - a highly successful undercover operative who was giving the US government the best damn information they had on Colombian gangs.”

“And they asked Cougar – a sniper with a reputation for not following orders – to eliminate him.”

“Uh huh.”

**

Clay does get Cougar off.

There's never a court martial.

The CO who was shot at takes early retirement to the relief of a number of people.

And Cougar's record remains vague and uninformative.

The Losers go out and paint the town red; Jolene lets them dry out before she bails them out in the morning, but she can't even pretend to be angry.

And yet, even though all should be forgotten and forgiven, the Losers are not quite back to normal.

 

 

 


	9. In the nightclub

"Still got leather pants?" 

Jensen stares at the text from Cougar and wonders what she's playing at.

"Yeah ...?" he texts back.

She gives him the address of a club and a time.

He's been out of town on training and feels like he's lost touch with the team. Something is up - Pooch has been muttering about 'weird ' behaviour but without giving details. So he's glad to hear from Cougar.

 

The club is not his kind of place. Belatedly he wonders if he's getting old. The music is headache inducing, loud, pounding, with little rhythm and incomprehensible lyrics. He chugs a couple of beers right away and wades into the throng of mostly teenaged revelers, some with spiked, coloured hair, many wearing leather and ripped shirts.

"Hey!" a vaguely familiar dark haired girl lurches into him. Her eyes are suspiciously bright. "You're JJ, right?"

"Yeah," he agrees.

She hooks her fingers into the belt loop on his crazy tight leather pants and hauls him closer, pressing her hips to his and gyrating seductively.

He goes along with it, sliding his hands up her naked back. She's tall and Hispanic looking with a cloud of dark hair and a friendly, if slightly unfocused, smile. He recognizes her as Cougar's friend - the one she played pool with in that bar, that time ....

"Here," she offers him one of the two glasses in her hands. "Let's get this party started."

He takes a big gulp, recognizing the acrid tang of chemical even masked by the alcohol. Ah. No wonder she's a little glassy eyed.

She throws back her own drink, leaves the glass on a shelf and slides her hands under his shirt, teasing his nipples, grinding her hips against him.

He follows suit, throwing back the rest of his spiked drink and burying his nose in her neck. God - it's been too long since he's been with a woman and he's hot and bothered and very turned on. He wishes he could remember her name - Marta? Marissa?

And then suddenly she's pulling away and laughing and hugging another woman and holy hell it's Cougar.

But Cougar as he's never seen her before - wearing high heeled, knee-high 'fuck me' boots and fishnet stockings and a leather mini skirt and a flimsy blouse. And she's still wearing her damn cowboy hat and she's just about the hottest thing he's ever seen.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she yells into his ear.

"You texted," he answers joyfully, drinking her in with his eyes.

She grabs his hand and pulls him into the crowd. It's so crowded that they're pressed together, no way to be discrete. He dares to slide his hands over her hips and she responds, bumping her hips towards his.

He pulls her close, rocking to the beat, burying his nose in her hair. God she smells good.

The other girl is forgotten. He can't believe she ever really existed. He's looking at Cougar and thinking he'll never let her out of his sight.

She laughs and dances and he matches her rhythm beat by beat.

The drugs are kicking in. His senses are in overdrive, the music throbs and he imagines colours in the music.

And they are kissing and it's everything he's ever fantasized - hot and fierce, her teeth nipping his lips, her tongue in his mouth. He trails kisses along her jaw and down her neck and she throws back her head.

The drugs are making him fuzzy. He's pressing her against a pillar, his mouth hot on hers and she's wrapping her legs around him. He runs his hand up her legs under her short, short skirt and finds out that the fishnet stockings don't even go all the way up - they stop high up on her thigh. He plucks at the elastic and strokes the bare skin and trembles.

"Let's get out of here," he murmurs. "I want to take you home."

She's unfastening his pants.

"No, no," he pants in her ear even as he desperately wants to feel her hands on himself. "Not here," he insists. "I want to take you home. Want you in my bed ..."

"No time," she says, nipping at his ear.

"What are you talking about?" he argues. "We have all the time in the world."

She shakes her head, sliding her hands into his pants and stroking him.

"Oh God," he moans, "but not here. I don't want to do this here. Want to take you home, make love to you in a bed. In my bed ..."

She grabs him, encircling his dick with her fingers and sliding her thumb over the tip.

"Oh holy FUCK," he gasps desperately. 

"You like?"

"You have NO idea," he rasps, "I want you so bad. Please let's go somewhere. Let's get out of here."

"Come," she encourages him, removing her hand from his pants and tugging him to follow her.

Somehow they end up in a room little larger than a closet. It's musty and seedy, dominated by an enormous tacky red armchair facing a mini stage with a pole just big enough for one dancer. It's a private viewing room.

The music of the club is somewhat muffled, but still throbbing.

Jensen is kissing Cougar, but still protesting as she pulls down his pants and pushes him down into the chair.

She peels off her panties and straddles him, settling on his lap.

Later he remembers very little. Just flashes and memories of intense senses like shards from a shattered stained glass window. It's all out of order with no logic.

He remembers the feel of her skin as he cups her breasts in his hands.

He remembers the scratchy feeling of the cheap fabric on his bare butt and the pressure of her bare knees on his hips.

And the amazingly erotic memory of her throwing back her head and crying out in the throes of passion.

He remembers the taste of her skin and the smell of her hair.

And the feeling of being inside her, hot and wet and tight.

 

He wakes up the next morning on a park bench, his stomach roiling, his head aching, and his mouth dry and fuzzy.


	10. The aftermath

Jensen wakes on a park bench, wincing at the bright sunlight. It's clearly past dawn, the sun is high in the sky.

He fights off a wave of nausea and peels himself off the slats to struggle to a sitting position. His mouth is dry and tastes like sick. His head is killing him and his stomach aches. He runs his hands through his hair and discovers that it's spiky and sticky.

He's lost his undershirt and his shirt is misbuttoned. He checks for his wallet and cellphone and is glad to find both. Apparently even passed out on a bench, he looks tough enough that no-one risked robbing him.

He rebuttons his shirt and his fingers brush dried blood on his collarbone. Clearly a bite mark and he has a moment of panic wondering if Cougar really is a vampire or a werewolf.

Then he shakes his head and vows to read fewer YA novels if that's where his brain takes him.

He staggers to his feet, discovers that his pants aren't fully buttoned up either but no matter, he's mostly tucked in. And then he makes his way to his truck where he chugs the half bottle of warm water he finds under the seat.

Ugh. This is no ordinary hangover.

At home, he swallows a handful of Motrin and has the longest, hottest shower he's enjoyed in a while. His smartphone is humming and buzzing with warnings of upcoming events and incoming messages and he flips through them once he's dressed.

He has a Losers team meeting in about ten minutes on the other side of town (about a 25 minute drive away).

Pooch texts to ask if he needs a ride and he responds saying no thanks - he's running late.

There are no messages from Cougar.

He taps the cougar icon to send her a message, but hesitates. What to say? 

He ends up telling her that he arrived home safe sound, hope she did too?

He vaguely remembers an argument where he was insisting on sleeping on the bench and she wanted him to get up and take a taxi home. Did she really remind him that she couldn't carry his sorry ass home?

The message bounces back as undeliverable.

Huh. No time to worry about that now. He grabs another bottle of water and leaves for the meeting.

"Hey, nice of you to finally drop in," Roque greets him gruffly.

"Been celebrating?" Pooch snorts, bumping fists. "You look like hell."

"Not feeling well," Jensen admits, his voice raspy.

Clay clears his throat. "Now that we've kissed everyone 'hello', can we get on with the damn meeting?"

"Isn't Cougar coming?" Jensen says as casually as he can manage.

Clay scowls. "Didn't you get her message?" he snarls. "She's gone. Transferred out."

"What?" He feels like the bottom has dropped out of his world.

"Yeah man," Pooch says sympathetically. "She didn't tell you?"

Everyone is looking at him with expressions of concern.

"Oh yeah," he mutters, frowning.

"She went to California," Pooch says gently. "To be closer to her family."

Roque glowers.

"She told me that," Jensen lies. "I just ... ah ... got the dates mixed up. She left when?"

"Yesterday," Clay answers gruffly. "Now do you mind?"

Jensen gets through the meeting without taking much in. 

Clay corners him afterwards. "What's up with you? You look like death warmed over."

"Sick."

"Go home. You know my opinion of coming in sick."

"Uh huh."

"If it were a hangover, I'd say tough luck, you have to have to grin and bear it, but if you're honest to god sick ..."

"Thanks."

 

**

Life goes on for the Losers without Cougar. Clay declares that snipers are the modern era’s version of mad hatters – driven nuts by their very jobs - and he declares that from now on, the Losers will rent their crazies rather than keep one on staff.

It’s the last time anyone references Cougar in Jensen’s hearing.

Jolene records and releases a CD of her original songs. Pooch has been talking about it for a while as it’s a long process, but honestly Jensen has a habit of tuning out Pooch’s incessant prattle on Jolene this, Jolene that …

Still, the Losers attend her launch and get gifted several CDs to pass off to friends. Jensen sends one to his sister who reports that she already has a box that she’s selling out of her home. Pooch makes a habit of going to various bars and coffee shops and pressuring them to play her songs. Then he nudges the people around him and says proudly, “Hear that? That’s my wife. She’s good, isn’t she?”

“It’s a damn good thing Jolene’s half decent,” Roque grumbles, “’cause you know he’d be just as pushy if she weren’t and we’d be all, yeah man, nice singing …” He makes a face.

“You don’t like Jolene’s CD?” Jensen asks.

“Are you listening? I said, I like her singing, but Pooch is gonna drive us all nuts,” Roque snarls. “He’s testing even my infinite patience.”

 

Roque and Shelia break up or whatever it is that happens when a couple isn’t actually officially dating, but used to show up at the same parties all the time. Shelia stops showing up at Pooch’s BBQs (at least when Roque is present) and starts stepping out with the mayor’s son. Roque glowers, but Jensen has the weird theory that Shelia being with another guy is a symptom of the problem not actually the cause.

 

And Pooch comes into work one day looking glassy eyed and delirious with happiness to announce that he’s going to be a daddy.

“Does Jolene know?” Roque quips and Pooch is too happy to do anything other than take a token swipe at him.

Clay calls an end to the work day in mid afternoon because they’re really not getting much done and the Loser hit the local bars – hard.

By the end of the night, the bar owners are kicking them out before they’ve even had a chance to order. They swagger in, looking dangerous and the owners are like – out! Get out now! They’re staggering, and singing, and being boisterously aggressive, and they are very lucky that no-one takes them up the offer to start a brawl.

Clay goes home with a beautiful woman who sets off all sorts of alarm bells in Jensen’s early warning system.

Roque decides that now is just the right time to break into Shelia’s house and have a face to face chat with her.

“Great idea,” Pooch says with the earnestness of the seriously drunk. “Communication is the key, man. Totally the key to a good relationship. Go talk to her.”

He’s not quite so stupid, even sloshing with alcohol, to go home himself. Jolene will have locked up by now and if he tries to break in she’ll shoot his sorry ass full of bird shot, baby daddy or not. So he crashes on the couch at Jensen’s apartment, babbling one story after another.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I quit the Losers?” he asks a propos of nothing.

“No,” says Jensen sprawled sideways on his armchair.

“See I was dating Jolene and getting real serious about her, thinking about buying a ring and all, and I kept thinking she wasn’t going to like staying with a dude with a job like mine where I was always jetting off to stupid places and getting shot at and stuff …”

“She loves that you’re a Loser,” Jensen corrects him absently.

“See there, you figured that out pretty quick,” Pooch agrees, “but me, I was stupid so I quit the Losers and I took an office job thinking oh great, hey now I’m a responsible adult with a stable, SAFE job and Jolene’s gonna be so pleased …”

“Uh huh.”

“And I was so bored, but I was thinking, hey sacrifice is needed for the love of my life ...”

“And?”

“And Jolene saw Clay in a bar one night and she lit into him. She said, what have you done with my man? He was all cool and dangerous and now, he’s just a CLERK in some office!”

“What did Clay say?”

“He called me up and said Jolene didn’t like the new domesticated Pooch, she prefers wild men, and if I didn’t come back to the Losers, Jolene was gonna make a play for him!”

Jensen laughs and fiddles with his smartphone. He’s thinking he should send Jolene a text message to let her know that Pooch is safe with him but the keyboard appears to have shrunk or his fingers have swollen up and it’s more difficult to text than he remembers.

He’s contemplating where the line is between just liking a drink once in a while and being a fully fledged alcoholic because despite the vast quantities of alcohol in his system, he’s still pretty coherent (he thinks). It’s getting very expensive to drink enough alcohol these days to get him to the state of oblivion that he seeks. Isn’t that a sign of rampant alcoholism? But he’s doing better than Pooch anyways who is now muttering about Cougar – a topic that is never, ever broached any more.

“That was cold, man, just cold,” Pooch rambles.

“What was?”

“Her leaving and not telling you. I mean, she told us not to tell anyone ‘cause it was all secret until the last minute, but I never, ever, ever thought that she’d leave you in the dark … that was just wrong … I mean, her team!”

“She told me,” Jensen says mildly.

“Huh?”

“In her own way. I just didn’t recognize that it was good-bye until after.”

“Communication was never her … what do you call it? Forte?”

“You had to read her little looks and twitches. Like dog whispering, only for cougars.”

Pooch snorts. “Clay says she’s not getting along with her new CO. He says good riddance ‘cause the next time she shoots her superior officer, it’s gonna be a kill shot and you don’t get away with that.”

“You keep in touch with her?”

Even drunk, Pooch gets that he’s straying into dangerous territory. “Not me,” he slurs, “but Jolene does, sort of. She gave her an earful when she left, but made it up and sent her a bunch of CDs. That’s all I know.”

 

Jensen wakes at dawn, pale light peeking through the still open curtains, aching and sore for lying awkwardly in the armchair, his feet hanging off one end, his head scrunched up on the other end. Pooch is snoring on the couch and it takes him a moment to realize that his phone is ringing.

He answers with a grunt, “urgh hmph,” which is what you get when you wake a man with a hangover at the crack of dawn.

It’s Jolene, laughing merrily.

“What?” he manages groggily.

“I’m laughing fit to burst at the text you sent me,” she trills joyfully.

“Huh?”

“It’s kind of hard to understand, but near as I can tell, you and Pooch are sleeping together, but you’ll give him back to me in the morning?”

He twists around so he’s sitting properly, feet on the ground, head in his hands and tries to remember, then he laughs. “Auto correct,” he guesses.

“Well I can hardly blame you,” she teases him. “My man is awfully hot in his nice jeans and you’ve spent a lot of downtime in close quarters.”

“Ah Jo,” he smiles, “you know I have eyes only for you.”

“I’m trying to figure out how to post this to social media or something to give Clay a heart attack,” she says merrily. “I’m thinking of using it as a caption to that photo of you two hugging on the mission in Tajikistan.”

“We weren’t hugging,” Jensen insists, “I was carrying him outta danger ‘cause he got hurt.”

“Whatever,” she says. “You look like you’re hugging and with this text … oh the fun I’m going to have with you boys.”

“You’re a monster,” he complains. “And I am waay too drunk to defend myself.”

“Send him back to me once you’ve had your wicked way with him,” she laughs. “Well, after he’s showered and cleaned up because I don’t want him corrupting our unborn poochette.”

 

Pooch is blinking blearily at him from the couch. “Whatsa up?”

Jensen scrolls through his sent messages until he finds the one from last night and hands it to Pooch. “Apparently I ‘outed’ us last night,” he says blandly. “Want some coffee?” Without waiting for an answer, he gets up and goes to the kitchen to get a pot going.

“Huh?” Pooch stares at the screen until he makes out the message. “What the …? Oh my god. This is just wrong … and dirty and …”

“Alcohol and auto correct do not mix,” Jensen agrees.

 

They get sent on what Roque calls the ‘grand tour of Central America’ – a long, drawn out tour of all the nastiest, grimiest, hottest, one-horse, two-bit towns that the military can think of. Jensen puts his newly improved Spanish to the test and wows some seriously tough guys with his impressively dirty vocabulary. He’s a little less successful with the ladies who look askance and make excuses to leave when he tries to flirt.

Clay meets and woos a seriously attractive woman who blows up his car.

Well Pooch gets blamed for it at first because he’d been all excited about installing a remote car starter on the vehicle and had just put it in. He kept telling the team that such starters were super useful in cold places because you could let the car warm up while you sit in your nice warm kitchen sipping coffee.

“It’s 110 degrees out here,” Roque points out irritably. “Always.”

Nevertheless, Clay gives permission for Pooch to install the device and they’re standing a couple of feet away when Pooch demonstrates how it works.

And the car simply blows up.

With a whoosh and huge ball of fire, leaving them scrambling.

They both emerge with minor hearing damage and soot on their faces and Pooch is in serious trouble until an investigation reveals the bomb attached to the ignition. Then he goes from goat to hero because it would have been fatal if they’d been sitting in the car when they started it.

Roque goes nuts on Clay, yelling about how irresponsible he is to keep picking up these crazy dames and putting his team in danger just for a little … whoopee.

“What the hell do you do or say to them for them to want to kill you in the morning?” he hollers furiously.

And Clay looks more smug than embarrassed. “Don’t you wish you knew,” he says.

Jensen writes to his sister, but he has to censor the stories a bit because it’s one thing that his job is crazy dangerous (that’s what he gets the danger pay for), but now it’s the off duty shenanigans that are getting them into trouble.

 

One day, Clay walks down to where Pooch is fiddling with a car (he’s always fixing something) and Jensen is chatting to him and distracting him.

“We’re going to need some extra firepower for the next mission,” Clay says bluntly. “There’s an American operative in Peru who’s flying in this afternoon on loan to us for the next couple of weeks.” He juggles the keys, takes stock of what each of his guys is working on, and tosses them to Jensen.

“Get going. Plane lands in two hours.”

It takes more than two hours to get the local airport. Jensen pulls the jeep in towards the hanger – it’s little more than an aluminum roof on posts. Most passengers have already been picked up and his eye is immediately drawn to a long, tall fellow wearing a cowboy hat leaning against one of the posts.

Jensen keeps seeing Cougar – or images of Cougar – no matter where they are. In airports, in fast food restaurants, lounging on street corners. It’s never really her of course and every time he does it, he kicks himself for being such an idiot.

He scans the remaining men, looking for an obvious American, preferably one with an army issued bag and maybe a baseball cap?

But it’s the guy in the cowboy hat who picks up a familiar looking duffle and a long rifle case and heads towards the jeep.

“Oh crap,” Jensen mutters. “Clay set me up.”

It is indeed Cougar.

 


	11. Exile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to write scenes paralleling the opening of the movie. For those who want a refresher / explanation, the Losers are watching a drugpin's compound just before it gets blown to smithereens and they realize that kids who have been used as drug mules are on site. When they can’t get the pilot to abort the bombing run, they race in and rescue the kids. They load the kids onto a helicopter for safe passage and the copter gets blown out of the sky. The Losers toss their dog tags into the wreckage to fool the authorities into thinking that they are dead (although that also means that their loved ones are told the same) and they flee, intending to get revenge on Max who orchestrated the whole thing.

   
Exile in Bolivia is all kinds of awful.  
   
There is the guilt and the shock of the incident itself.

Then there is the lack of money and the boredom, both of which are only partly alleviated by quirky part-time jobs.

Clay wanders the city (really more of a scruffy town) and comes home with boxes of groceries that may or may not have fallen off a truck.

Pooch writes letters to Jolene obsessively late into the night, but of course he can’t send them. Jensen never asks what he does with them.

Roque is angrier than ever before. Sometimes he cooks increasingly elaborate meals. Sometimes he goes into the backyard and throws knives into the trees trunks.

Clay has been lecturing everyone about the need to be what he calls ‘multi-talented’. As far as Jensen understands, this means that everyone on the team has to be able to shoot, throw knives, drive like crazy, handle undercover work … it’s no different than what they were doing before. It also seems to him that Clay and Cougar spend an awful lot of time in conference, cooking up schemes. Clay has said before that he thinks full-time sniping is bad for one’s mental health so he seems determined to get Cougar doing more undercover work.

Not that that is particularly good for one’s mental health.

Cougar stays out late and comes home stinking of beer and smoke. Jensen thinks that there’s something physically wrong with her – she winces sometimes when no-one is looking and goes through bottles of over the counter pain relievers like they’re candy.

Jensen is wishing that he bothered to attend the seminars of PTSD that the army offered back when he was in the army even though he’s not sure that that’s really the problem. He alternates between running obsessively through town and spending days on end playing online gaming marathons where he hardly leaves the couch until his eyes are gritty with lack of sleep.

Clay and Roque go hunting and come back with the carcass of an animal that they insist is wild boar, but Jensen’s pretty sure it’s one of those giant rodent things that marines tell crazy stories about.

There are only two bedrooms with full sized beds in the flophouse they’re sharing. They’ve stuffed a single mattress into another room (really not much more than a closet) and the couch is big enough, but mostly they play musical beds, sometimes sharing a mattress, sometimes sleeping in shifts.  
   
   
**  
   
Jensen is sleeping on the couch when he hears the rasp of a key in the lock.

He’s instantly alert; he’s not sure who is out so late. Actually it’s so late now that it’s actually early morning. The sky in the east is tinted a dark burgundy at the horizon.

The person entering slips inside and muffles the door as it closes.

Jensen sits up frowning as he strains to hear who it is.  
The person drops something or tosses something onto the pile of shoes by the door and pads softly into the kitchen. Opens the fridge and drinks deeply from a bottle, probably of water.

Only one person moves that quietly.

Jensen gets up and follows her into the kitchen.

“Are you just getting in now?” he asks, meaning to speak softly, but his words come out unexpectedly harsh and loud in the silence of the pre dawn.

Cougar frowns and turns away without acknowledging his question, flicking on the tap and starting to splash water on her face.

“Jeez, are you bleeding?” Jensen asks catching sight in the dimness of a dark slash across her upper arm.

“Little bit,” she says laconically. “No big deal.”

He steps a little closer. “Need help?”

She scrubs her face vigorously and then grabs at a dishtowel. “Sure. Thanks.”

Jensen peers at her carefully. Even in the pre dawn darkness, he can see that she’s not ok. Unusually, she’s wearing a skirt – a long, old fashioned denim skirt that looks like something a local peasant girl would wear. She’s wearing a more-feminine-than-usual white blouse that’s slashed messily across the upper arm, revealing a wide gash that is oozing blood rather than really gushing. She’s a little unsteady, a little glassy eyed, listing ever so slightly and putting out a hand on the counter to steady herself.

He pulls down a first aid kit from a cabinet and spreads it open on the counter.

Cougar shrugs her injured arm out of the blouse. She pulls the extra material away so he has easy access and then she turns her head away so he can’t see her face.

He’s not sure if she’s trying to hide further bruises or injuries (he doesn’t see any yet) or the traces of rarely worn make up that she’s just washed off or the dark shadows under her eyes.

Jensen sets his jaw and sets to work. He goes to flip on the overhead light, but she frowns at him and shakes her head firmly. So with a sigh, he turns on the smaller LED undercounter light instead and focuses it on her upper arm.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

“Walking home,” she says, her voice rough and raspy. “Thought I was an easy mark. Two guys tried to jump me.”  
She looks quickly at the wound and then away.

“You shouldn’t be out alone in this town,” Jensen says carefully.

She frowns. “You’re not really my brother, you know.”

“I’m not being sexist or over protective,” he insists, wiping the injury area clean. “It’s a crappy town, lots of bad guys. None of us should be out wandering around at night.”

“Yeah.” She sounds unconvinced.

“You don’t need stitches,” he reports. “It’s shallow.”

“They weren’t really scary bad guys,” she says idly, maybe trying for some humour. “Just some kids thinking they could take advantage.”

“Bet you taught them a lesson,” he mutters, searching for an appropriately sized band-aid. “They’ll think twice about jumping a pretty girl again.”

“Hmmm.”

He dabs some antibacterial cream on the cut; she winces. He sticks a band-aid on.

“All done.”

She pulls away, puts her arm back in her blouse, avoids his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Is this it? There’s nothing else? You don’t need a hospital?” he checks carefully, half knowing that she’s not going to admit to needing help even if she does.

“Of course not.”

“Ok.”

She closes her eyes, sways a little. He reaches to catch her, meaning to steady her and she flinches.

He’s so surprised he lets go.

She opens her eyes and he notes that she looks ... scared.

“What?” he asks uneasily.

“You’re angry at me,” she answers softly, not looking directly at him.

“No,” he denies it quickly.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “For a long time. Ever since ... before.” She flicks a quick look at him and then averts her eyes again.

“What do you mean?”

“When you picked me up at the airport,” she answers. “You were mad. _Quiet_. I thought – what the hell – he’s having a bad day. But you never stopped.”

Despite living in ridiculously close quarters for weeks, they haven’t been this close to each other in a long time. They’ve been stepping around each other, avoiding sitting next to each, never sharing a space, hardly ever talking to each other except during work.

Jensen scowls. “Yeah, maybe,” he admits.

She gives him a wary sideways look.

He’s forgotten how long and dark her eyelashes are. So much of her persona is tough-guy macho that he is sometimes startled by how delicate and fine boned she is if you look under the hat. Up close, he’s distracted by her large dark eyes, underlined now with smudged make up and shadows.

“Can you blame me?” he says defensively, trying to roll his shoulders, unclench his hands.

“For what?”

“You know.”

She raises one eyebrow and shakes her head ever so slightly.

Jensen is annoyed. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember,” he says irritably. “That last night? The nightclub? Unless you have some evil twin sister you haven’t told me about. That was you, right? Kissing me and … everything.”

“Of course it was me,” she says softly.

“Well then,” he snaps.

Silence stretches out. He knows from long experience that Cougar doesn’t mind the quiet. She’ll let conversations drop and will wait for long stretches before answering a question.

He grits his teeth and resolves to wait her out.

She rubs her face tiredly.

He packs up the first aid kit and puts it back.

“So …” she says finally. “You’re mad about what happened in the nightclub? On that last night?”

“Damn right,” he says. “You remember what happened?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “Course.”

“Thought so,” Jensen mutters.

“Why?” she says again patiently, a slight frown on her face. “I don’t remember ... arguing.”

He sighs, collects himself. “Don’t act so innocent,” he mutters angrily. “Remember your friend slipping me that drink?”

“No. What drink?”

“The spiked one. I don’t know what was in it.”

Cougar looks thoughtful, which Jensen thinks is entirely inappropriate. “I never asked her to do something like that,” she says.

“But you knew I was drunk and stoned.”

She shrugs. “We were in a nightclub.”

“But you were ok with ... even though I was ...”

She looks puzzled. “You’re angry because of the drugs?”

“No!” he is so angry now, his voice is starting to rise. “Quit acting so ... like you don’t remember.”

“You were high,” she admits, “but you weren’t doing anything out of character. You always flirted with me. Used to.”

“We were doing more than just flirting,” he reminds her drily.

“I remember,” she responds sharply. “But I don’t understand the problem. You got ... what you wanted, right?”

“Jeez,” Jensen snarls, “Contrary to stereotype, it’s not every guy’s fantasy to get slipped a roofie and then have meaningless sex in a ... what the hell was that place anyways? A peep show room?”

She glares at him, focusing on him for the first time.

“You didn’t even give me a choice,” Jensen hisses angrily. “Didn’t tell me you were leaving ... that this was ‘good-bye’ ... didn’t listen when I said I wanted to go somewhere else ...”

It occurs to him that it’s the first time he’s articulated, even to himself, just what was it that’s upset him so much about the Incident as he’s been calling it in his head.

“You didn’t like the … sex?” she asks uncertainly.

“Fuck! It wasn’t about the sex!” he snarls.

He steps closer.

And Cougar shuts down. He doesn’t know if it is this ability of hers that made her attractive as a sniper or whether the sniper training itself has made her so, but she’s gone into her statue mode. He knows her well enough to see the twitch in her jaw and the fact that she’s focusing on controlling her breathing, but other than that, she’s emotionless. Her eyes slide past him, her lips are set, she folds her arms across her chest.

Jensen, on the other hand, is trembling. “You just took,” he says furiously. “Without asking. Without telling me what was going on.”

“You think I took advantage?” she asks coolly, “that I ...?”

“That’s not how I wanted it to go down. Us …you and me …”  
 

They’re interrupted by the sound of one of the bedroom doors opening.

Jensen jumps and steps back, hoping he doesn’t look as guilty as he feels.

Clay emerges, wearing his trademark black trousers and pulling on a shirt. “Everything ok out here?” he asks, his gravelly voice made even more gruff by sleep.

“Fine, fine,” they echo, avoiding each other’s eyes.

Clay looks unconvinced. He scowls, peers at them.

The sky is slate grey tinged with pink and blurry shadows are sharpening into clear shapes. The sun can be seen through the large picture window just starting her slow accent.

Clay focuses on Cougar. “I see you got home safe and sound. Talked to that friend?”

“Yes sir.”

There’s silence for a moment.

“I gotta meet a guy about a thing,” Clay says vaguely. “So if you want to ... ah ... crash in my bed ...?”

“Thanks.” Cougar nods stiffly.

“I’m going for a run,” Jensen announces.

“Still dark out,” Clay points out.

“Best way to beat the heat,” Jensen explains blandly.  
   
   
 


	12. Leading up to something

The end of a mission, especially one that concludes with a dive off a platform to prevent the world from exploding can sometimes inspire some dramatics after the fact.

Aisha climbs into the driver’s seat of the enormous yellow Hummer. Clay helps Jensen and Cougar settle Pooch on one of the long bench seats. Then they all three get out and go around the huge vehicle. Clay climbs into the passenger seat. That leaves Jensen leaning wearily outside the Hummer for a moment and Cougar regarding him with that clear-eyed look she gets sometimes. Very catlike – almost predatory.

“What a day, huh?” Jensen says tiredly.

“Yes,” Cougar says very precisely, watching him carefully. “We should talk.”

“What?”

She steps closer to him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said to me, earlier, in the safe house.”

“Cougs … now?”

“You were right,” she says bluntly, firmly. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

He blinks uneasily at her. “You’re telling me this now?”

Cougar glances over at the passenger mirror. Clay has the window down and his elbow out and he’s probably watching them in the side mirror, but not yet saying anything.

“In the hotel, later … we should talk more,” she says. Then she steps up close to him, grabs a fistful of his t-shirt and kisses him.

He has no time to react other than to grunt and blink before she lets him go, nods very seriously to him and climbs into the Hummer to sit with Pooch. Jensen feels stunned and breathless, but he’s very aware that Clay is pointedly adjusting the side mirror so he climbs in after her and slams the door.

There is, of course, no easy way to get from point A to point B. They drive a half day’s travel east to the hospital where Jolene is. They stop several times along the way to get food and medical supplies. The Hummer requires re-fueling every few hours.

Shockingly Pooch is not badly injured. The shots went through and through flesh, missing both bone and arteries. Lucky too as a shot to the leg can be fatal in seconds. Cougar tends to him, seriously working by flashlight in the middle seat of the Hummer, washing out his wounds, bandaging him, giving him painkillers. She doesn’t smile, she hardly says anything.

Jensen watches her and wonders if his overheated brain imagined that brief moment outside the vehicle.

She checks his injury too – a slight flesh wound on the shoulder that stings like crazy, but will hardly leave a scar.

“Seriously no scar?” he grumbles half-heartedly. “I get shot and no scar? Where’s the justice?”

This time she does smile, a tired, patient ghost of a smile. “Who are you going to impress with a little scar like that? Looks like a vaccination scar. Or a kid scratched you with a pen.”

He scowls. “I could make up a story about a crazy lady who shot me so she could escape out of a hotel room …”

“Hmm.”

Afterwards, Cougar naps on one of the benches.

Pooch sleeps the sleep of the shocked and drugged.

Jensen sits and watches them both.

Clay chats to Aisha although they can’t hear the conversation from the back.

Aisha drives like she does everything else – fast, and sure.

It’s pouring down with rain when they arrive and the hospital is absolutely adamant about not allowing anyone, not even an expectant father – who has no ID to prove that he belongs – to enter the hospital grounds.

When it looks like Clay is about to start a fight and the hospital has summoned three burly security guards to glower at them, Cougar pulls Clay away and Jensen throws an arm around Pooch.

“Better idea,” he says earnestly. “Come with me.”

Aisha is surprised to have them climbing back into the Hummer, but amused at Jensen’s plan.

They stop at a camping goods store that is just about to close and stock up on rappelling equipment. Then they go back to the hospital.

Aisha does reconnaissance, walking up to the front desk and asking some innocuous questions about the location of the maternity ward and the Losers are back in the business that they’re actually good at. It’s kind of break and enter, but better.

 

Afterwards, the four who are left share champagne from a bottle of cheap plonk. They don’t bother with glasses. It’s pouring out and they are soaked. Clay and Aisha don’t seem to mind. They laugh and look at each other with such pleasure and amusement as if the wetness is some kind of come on.

Jensen is watching Cougar and he can see that once the mission is over, she wants to get out of the rain. Like a cat, she hates being wet.

“Hotel?” he suggests to the group.

“Considering that we just saved the whole West Coast from blowing up, I’d say we deserve a little treat,” Clay announces. “Let’s find us a nice Hilton with room service and a bar.”

Of course, although they do find a nice place, there’s nowhere to park the Hummer so Clay drops three of them off while he searches for an empty lot.

Jensen gets two rooms and hands a key card to Aisha.

After she vanishes, he faces Cougar, heart pounding, not quite sure what to say.

“I got us a room,” he says carefully. “That’s OK, right?”

She is very still, in her statue pose that he finds so hard to read.

She nods, very seriously. “We need to talk,” she says. Then she smiles a little mischievously, “and maybe after, well who knows?”

His heart does a little thud. “This is about the whole nightclub thing, right?”

“Of course,” she says.

“Right.”

“But wait,” she says, frowning a little.

“What?”

She bites her lip, an usual sign of nervousness in a usually unflappable person. “If we … uh … I only have a small bag of clothes with me. No supplies. I think maybe I have to make a run to a drugstore.”

For a moment he thinks she’s talking about feminine products and he’s incredibly embarrassed and then he realizes that’s not what she’s talking about it.

“Here,” he says, handing her one of the key cards. “Go on up and get settled and I’ll get the … stuff from the drugstore.”

She quirks her eyebrow in the questing way she has.

“Male prerogative,” he insists playfully. “Seriously. Go.”

 

Clay enters the hotel to find Jensen staring angrily at the closed glass door of the small hotel store that apparently sells everything from souvenirs and t-shirts to candy and headache medication.

“You look like you are contemplating a crime,” Clay observes drily.

“Would it be a crime if I broke in, took what I wanted, and left money on the counter?” Jensen answers bitterly.

“Yes,” Clay says firmly. “What do you need? It will open again in the morning.”

Jensen scowls. “Why is everything closed? I asked the concierge. He says EVERYTHING is closed tonight.”

“It’s Sunday, conservative place,” Clay shrugs.

Jensen cocks his head, checks out the cameras in the ceiling.

“No,” Clay says with a grimace. “Enough breaking and entering for one day. Come up to my room. You have a key card for me?”

“But …”

“I have a pretty good idea of what you need,” Clay says with a roll of his eyes. “Come, I can set you up.”

Jensen follows him into the elevator, trying not to slink. ‘I am an adult,’ he reminds himself. ‘not a spotty teenager sneaking around behind adults’ backs. It should not be this awkward.’

But it is.

Clay knocks once before sliding his card into the door and they enter. Luckily Aisha is still dressed, lounging on one of the beds, flipping through channels on the TV.

“Hey,” Jensen mutters, standing awkwardly in the doorway while Clay goes into the bathroom and starts to rummage around.

“What are you looking for?” Aisha asks.

“Oh,” says Clay, “she’ll have put them next to the bed.”

“Really, you don’t have to, oh my god,” Jensen facepalms, his ears turning pink.

Clay opens the bedside dresser and pulls out a box of condoms which he tosses to Jensen.

“Thanks,” Jensen mutters. “Ah, you need some? Should I open this?”

“Nah, I got another box in here,” Clay grins. “That should tide you over at least until the stores open.”

“You and Carla, huh?” Aisha grins. “’bout time. You were driving us all nuts circling around each other.”

“Hmm,” he says noncommittally.

“You be good to her, you hear?" she says playfully, with an evil grin on her face.

Jensen clutches the box and starts to back out.

“What took you so long?” Aisha asks. “Did you do something? Have to apologize for some bone-headed mistake?”

“No,” he snaps, stung by the accusation. “She apologized to me, not that it’s any of your business.”

Clay pushes him out of the room and into the hallway. “Look,” he says, as Jensen wishes desperately that an earthquake would rumble in and distract them all. “I know I’m not the best role model but take this as a kind of – do as I say, not as I do – bit of advice …”

“Really Clay, seriously …” Jensen tries to escape. “I appreciate …everything. Especially these … but …”

Clay frowns. “Communication,” he says.

“What?”

“Communication is the key. You’re gonna need to figure that out. And your inane prattle is not communication – it’s just white noise. And Cougar – well you know her … you’re going to have to step it up.”

“Uh huh.”

Clay regards him seriously.

“We’ll be fine,” Jensen assures him desperately. The ‘talk’ from his CO is just so desperately, painfully awful. Forget earthquake, he wants the whole earthquake, flood, tornado ripping off roofs, calamity to wash in here right now.

He escapes and makes his way to his room which is as far away from Clay and Aisha’s as he could get. The clerk had looked at him a bit oddly when he made the request but if they set fire to this hotel room, he wants to be far enough away to have a chance at escaping.

He has a quick moment of panic because it’s empty, but then he notices her cowboy hat on one of the beds and hears the whisper of the shower.

He tucks the box into the bedside table between the beds and takes off his boots.

And then someone knocks on the door.

 


	13. This is where it gets steamy

Cougar is in the shower when she hears Jensen enter the hotel room.

Shortly after that, she hears knocking. She's been a Losers long enough to know how he's going to react. He'll be pulling out his gun (of course he's armed!) and peering through the spy hole. She shuts off the water.

"Jacob!" she calls out. She's the only one who ever calls him that and she can't even remember when she started or why. "I ordered room service. Is that them at the door?"

"Probably," he answers. "I'll check."

All her clothes are dirty, filthy even. She's been mucking about in the jungle too long. She washes some items and hangs them on the towel rack then puts on her cleanest pair of panties and a T-shirt, wraps her hair in a towel and goes back into the room.

Jensen looks up, guilty as sin, his mouth stuffed full of sandwiches. She's amused to note that his eyes flick quickly from her bare legs to the towel turban. He swallows a huge mouthful and waves at the tray. Apparently he's wolfed down about a third of the sandwiches already, but she's anticipated his hunger and ordered enough for a crowd.

"They're good," he mumbles through his mouthful. "No tuna - I checked."

"I asked for no tuna," she admits, taking a sandwich. "Do you want a shower? Pressure's great."

"Yeah, good idea," he nods nervously.

She eats her fill, rifles through the mini bar for some liquid courage, brushes her teeth and waits.

By the time Jensen emerges, she's sitting cross-legged on the bed, combing her mostly dry hair. It's getting long. If she were still in the military, she'd be getting snide looks and reminders about cutting it or tying it back. Shocking to think that she doesn't have to worry about that any more.

Jensen fidgets. He brushes his teeth, checks that the door is latched, and flips off the overhead lights. The lamps on the side tables provide plenty of soft light.

She pats the bed and he flops down next to her.

"So Clay offered some advice," he says.

"You asked Clay for advice?"

"No," he answers. "He just offered. You know how he is."

"Not a great role model," she points out.

Jensen shrugs in a maybe-maybe not kind of way.

"He only ever goes on second dates when he wants to practise evasive tactics," Cougar reminds him.

Jensen grins. "He was telling me that communication is the key to a happy relationship."

"I think that's what Pooch says too," she agrees.

"Uh huh."

"And all the ladies's magazines," Cougar says mischievously. "Not that I read such things."

He grins.

Cougar takes a deep breath. This not her forte. "So I guess I should ask if you can forgive me for the whole ... nightclub thing?"

Jensen waves her apology away. "There's nothing to forgive. I mean, I was mad, yeah, but mostly that you left and the whole thing was a kind of farewell and you didn't tell me THAT and I guess you could see it as a whole miscommunication thing ..." 

"Yeah ..."

"And really the sex was pretty hot ... what I can remember of it."

"You really don't remember much?"

"No."

"I didn't realize you were that ..."

"Yeah, I know. I don't know what was in that drink."

"I never asked her to do that ..."

"I know."

"Sorry."

Cougar is fighting to control her breathing. As a sniper she's acutely aware of her body's reaction to stress. She wishes it were darker, that she were drunk, that they could just stop talking and start tearing their clothes off. Sex she can handle. Talking about feelings and stuff ... that's much harder.

He pats the bed and she reluctantly lies down. She feels vulnerable lying down so she focuses on the external signs of stress - no fidgeting, no biting of lips, slow, steady breathing. When she needs to, she can slow her heartbeat to a resting state no matter the external conditions.

He watches her closely.

"So," she says softly, not actually looking at him, "What do you want? Tell me ... what ... how ... between us?"

He's still watching her intently. He frowns just a little. "I'm not sure I can tell you what I want," he says, "but I know what I don't want."

"Mmm?"

"I don't want this to be a one-night stand, for us to be fuck buddies, friends with benefits, or whatever. I can't handle casual sex. Not with you."

"OK," she says softly.

"We're not in the army anymore so we don't have to worry about fraternization so I don't want to feel like we have to sneak around and keep it ... us a secret."

"You want to be public?" she asks. "Hold hands, go out to dinner, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah."

"OK."

"Is this how it's going to work?" he teases her. "I do all the talking and you say yes or no?"

"If it works," she smiles.

He brushes a strand of hair away from her face and strokes her cheek. Despite all her efforts, she can feel her body react to his touch. Her heart races and she has to resist the urge to lean in his hand. God she wants him to touch her.

He leans over, probably to kiss her and then pauses. "And exclusive," he says seriously. "I don't want to come across as a possessive dick, but ... that's just super important."

"Of course," she promises.

He kisses her and it's every bit as good as she remembers. His lips are firm; she leans into him and opens her mouth and barely suppresses a moan.

He shifts, pulling himself closer, leaning over her. She arches her back, eyes closed.

He strokes her cheek, runs his fingers through her hair, slides a finger slowly down her arm. She shivers in anticipation.

She realizes that he's waiting for her - to do what? Give him permission? Take the lead? She doesn't know exactly. She takes his hand and slides it up under her T-shirt and he whispers in delight against her lips as he cups her breast and slides one thumb across her nipple.

She moans; he tugs at the hem of her shirt. "May I?"

"Oh please."

He pulls it up and over her head, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor.

When Cougar was young, she had an aunt who told her that women were bombarded by so many messages of hate telling them to be insecure about their bodies that they had to make a deliberate decision to like their own bodies - no matter what. Cougar had taken that to heart. She likes her body. Likes that she's tall and strong and that she can run and jump and fight alongside men.

When she undresses for a man, she's not looking for his approval. She's not going to apologize for not having double D breasts or for being hard and muscled where other women are soft. She HAS kicked guys out of her bed for expressing surprise or dismay or offering advice (a la Roque) on ways she could improve herself - implants? Really?

Jensen passes test number one by being gratifyingly delighted at her nakedness, murmuring sweet nothings as he kisses and licks and sucks first one, then the other breast.

Cougar grabs at the hem of his shirt and pulls it up. He yanks it over his head and drops it on the floor to join hers, then he covers her with his body. She moans and arches her back so the soft hairs on his chest tickle the sensitive skin on her breasts. 

God, he has such an amazing body. She knows this in the abstract - she's seen him shirtless often enough but to be this close is very exciting. He's easily twice as wide as her and hard and muscled. She squeezes one shoulder and lets her nails rake down his side. She runs a thumb over one nipple which hardens under her touch.

He kisses her harder now, teeth grazing her lips.

She runs one finger along the stubble on his jaw. Three days, she guesses. He's fair so others sometimes don't notice his beard, but she's aware that he's the kind of guy to have five o'clock shadow if he goes a day without shaving, and will devolve into mountain man scruffiness if deprived of a razor for more than a week.

"Sorry," he murmurs, "no razor in the kit. I'll get one in the morning when the stores open."

"I like it," she says. "Macho."

"Scratchy," he says idly.

He tugs lightly at the waistband of her panties and she lifts her hips obligingly so he can slide them off.

Now here's where Cougar might admit to some curiosity. Just how experienced is Jacob Jensen? He hasn't had a girlfriend in the whole time he's been with the Losers, nor has there been talk of an ex. He goes on dates set up by Jolene but they never lead to anything but hilarious stories of his social ineptitude. He's terrible at flirting although attractive enough that it happens once in a while that women decide to hit on him and drag him out of bars to have their wicked way with him.

So he's no virgin, but Cougar has long suspected that he might need a little gentle coaching.

Turns out that she's underestimating him.

Oh my god, is she ever.

He uses those long, dexterous fingers with skill, stroking her gently, teasing, touching, testing until she is slick and moaning in unabashed delight.

And his tongue. Good for more then non stop chatter, he licks her gently, hums against her sensitive bits, and has her almost sobbing in arousal.

She runs her fingers through his short, spiky hair and arches her back in delight.

"Come," she whispers, tugging gently.

"Hmm?" he pretends not to understand.

"Come here!" she orders him. "Up!"

He makes his way back up her body slowly, running his tongue around her belly button, nipping at her breast.

"What are you in such a rush for?" he teases her gently. "You're close. I can tell. Why not just lie back and enjoy?"

"I need ... I want ..." she's panting, breathless.

He grins and kisses her.

She tugs at the waistband of his jeans.

He trails kisses along her jaw, her neck, sucking hard enough that she knows she will have a mark in the morning.

She fumbles with the button on his pants. It's not easy to reach so far down.

"Such impatience," he murmurs.

"I am close," she answers. "But I need you inside me."

He slides a finger deep inside and she gasps and bucks against him.

"Not enough," she whispers.

"Fine!" he laughs in a mock huff. He rolls off her and yanks off his jeans and boxers then reaches for the drawer.

She drapes herself over him, burying her nose in his shoulder. She's trembling slightly.

He turns to her, covering her body with his own, his fingers stroking her gently and guiding himself into her.

She arches her back, pushing up, delighting in the feeling of him sliding inside.

He groans softly, ducking his head to kiss her neck.

It takes them a few minutes to find a rhythm. Cougar knows how she likes it - fast and hard and deep - and yes, size does matter. Not that that is a concern with Jensen, who is built, proportionally, shall we say?

She rocks her hips impatiently against him.

And yet, he is gentle, moving slowly with deliberation. 

She hums in frustration.

"What are you in such a rush for?" he teases, his voice husky.

She growls and wraps one leg around him, shifting to change the angle.

He gasps, mutters something into her neck, his hot breath in her ear. Despite her urging, he's sticking to a long, slow rhythm, pulling out so far, she's sure she's going to lose him, then pushing back in slowly, so agonizingly slowly.

"¡Dios mío!" she huffs.

"Oh speak dirty to me baby," he whispers, his lips on her neck. "In Spanish, even better."

She can't help but laugh.

He props himself up on one elbow and slides his other hand under Cougar, using his fingers to tap a message on her spine. She tilts her hips in response and he pushes in a little deeper.

She's trembling, oh so close.

He rocks, pushes a little deeper.

She cries out as the waves of her orgasm hit her.

Jensen waits until she has gathered herself. He kisses her neck again and murmurs sweet nothings about how hot she is. She clings to him. He starts moving, still much slower than she would prefer, but it's his show now, so she matches his rhythm.

He talks throughout, whispering to her about how turned on he is, how close he is, how fucking good this feels ... and then he too is gasping and shuddering and burying his face in her neck with a great moan of delight.

She sucks in great lungfuls of air.

"Mmm, sorry," he murmurs, rolling off her.

"Why are you apologizing?" she asks.

"For being so heavy, lying on top of you like that."

"Ah," she smiles wisely. "So you're not looking for reassurance, then?"

"Looking for what? No - that was the best damn sex of my life and I'm not gonna believe you if you rank it so-so," he retorts. "Even better than my fantasy."

"Your what?"

"Oh that sounds so creepy," he sighs. "I'm just going to get up now and deal with this ... thing."

Cougar watches him pad silently to the bathroom.

My god, he has a nice body. Long, lean legs, and round, muscular ... She rolls over and tries to get her breathing under control. Anyone would think she'd just run a marathon, the way she's panting.

Jensen comes back, flicking off the lights and checking AGAIN that the latch is fastened. He climbs into bed and snuggles up to Cougar, sliding one hand up her belly to cup one breast.

"Is it too soon to say 'I love you'?" he murmurs. "How do you say it in Spanish? _Yo quiero tu?"_

" _Te quiero_ ," she corrects him sleepily. "Or _te amo._ Or since it's you, _quiero que seas mía."_

"I like that one," he says. "Would it be _quiero que seas mío_ since it's me and I'm a guy?" 

_____"Mmm," she answers, fitting her body to his._ _ _ _ _

_____" _Te amo," he says.__ _ _ _ _


	14. Afterwards

 

It is late morning, almost noon when they are startled by strong knocking on the door.

Jensen has just stepped out of the shower so he is shirtless, but wearing jeans and brushing his teeth.  He spits out the toothpaste, grabs his gun from the dresser and goes to the door.

“Stand down,” Cougar mutters from under the covers. “It’ll be Clay.”

Jensen peers cautiously through the spy hole, then flips the safety back on his gun, and opens the door. “Hey,” he greets Clay. “What’s up?”

Clay scowls. “Are you ok?”

“What?”

Clay steps into the room. “You didn’t come down for breakfast and you’re not answering your phone. And why are you in this wing of the hotel? Do you know what I had to do to figure out your room number?”

“I turned off my phone,” Jensen explains.

Clay looks around, taking in the pile of room services containers on the dresser, the thoroughly wrecked bed, sheets rumpled, headboard askew, and the Cougar shaped lump under the sheets.

“Ah,” he says with an amused expression. “I see.”

Jensen grins. “Do you want details?”

“God no,” Clay growls. “But you turned off your phone? I didn’t know you knew how.”

“You wound me,” retorts Jensen.

Clay sighs. “Pooch texted that visiting hours start soon. I’m going. Want to join me?”

“Err yeah …” Jensen looks towards the bed.

Cougar sits up, pulling the sheets up to mask her nudity. Her hair is a tousled mess, her eyes heavily lidded with sleep. Clay thinks he’s never seen any woman look as sexy and as thoroughly debauched.

“I just need to have a shower,” she declares. “What are we driving?”

“The Hummer,” Jensen answers automatically. He’s tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and is now fiddling with his phone – no doubt to turn it on.

“It’s too conspicuous,” Cougar argues. “And it guzzles gas.”

“Hospital’s not far away,” Clay argues.

“And it’s cool,” Jensen points out.

Cougar looks unamused. “It’s like a giant spotlight telling Max – here we are. And here are some friends.”

Jensen opens his mouth to argue, but Clay forestalls him. “Aisha said the same thing,” he admits sadly. “So we’ve rented a Toyota.”

 

**

Aisha drops them off at the front entrance. She has no interest in oohing and ahing over babies and she doesn’t think Jolene (whom she’s never met) will appreciate her presence.

Jensen hovers, and bounces along on the balls of his feet and touches Cougar – a quick touch on her hip, a flick of her hair out of her eyes, a brush of fingertips, but they’re not actually holding hands.

Clay is absolutely refusing to notice that Cougar, while not exactly limping, is moving a little stiffly, lacking her usual feline grace.

The private room is dark when they arrive. Jolene is temporarily absent, but Pooch is sitting on the two-person couch with a pillow on his lap – and the baby nestled into blankets on the pillow.

“Hey guys!” he exclaims as they come in, his eyes absolutely glowing.

They crowd around, oohing and ahing as expected.

“Way to go,” Jensen bubbles cheerfully.

“Good looking baby,” Clay growls. “Good thing he takes after Jolene.”

“We’re all happy about that,” Pooch agrees with enthusiasm.

“How was your night?” Clay asks.

“Rough,” Pooch admits. “Here, someone want to hold him?”

Everyone backs off. “Oh no, no that’s ok …”

He laughs. “Come on, he won’t bite. No teeth yet.”

Jensen nudges Cougar. “Come on, I know you want to.”

She makes an uncertain face. Jensen leans over and scoops the baby up carefully with the practiced ease of an experienced baby wrangler.

“Watch his head,” Pooch says nervously.

“I know,” Jensen murmurs, tucking the baby into the hollow of his shoulder. The baby, himself, squeaks and flails for a moment and then settles, burying his nose into the soft fabric of Jensen’s shirt.

Pooch gets up with a groan, stretching, rubbing his sore legs.

“How are you feeling?” Clay asks.

“Stiff, sore,” Pooch answers ruefully, “and NOT allowed to complain about anything - no way, no how.”

Jensen is trying to show the baby to Cougar but she looks dubious. “Sit down,” he says authoritatively. “I’ll put him in your arms.”

Pooch regards them with a small frown. “How long have I been gone, sir?” he asks Clay uncertainly.

Clay shrugs. “Not in the army anymore,” he answers.

Cougar sits carefully on the couch where Pooch had been and Jensen sits next to her. He eases the baby off his shoulder and carefully places him in Cougar’s uncertain arms. She juggles him as if he’s a small armed explosive and Jensen smirks.

Jolene arrives just then, walking slowly and carefully, but dressed and looking beautiful.

“Oh my!” she says in delight. “The diaper brigade is here. I’m guessing that’s why y’all are here, right? Cause you boys OWE me big time.”

Clay envelops her in a bear hug. “You did alright,” he says gruffly. “Well done girl.”

She looks suddenly teary, not typical for her. “Bastard,” she slaps his shoulder.

Pooch gazes at her with adoration, and no small mix of apology.

She looks at the couch where Cougar is sitting, awkwardly holding the baby, and Jensen is snuggled next to her with his arm around her shoulders, gazing at both Cougar and the baby with a mixture of anxiety and adoration.

“You guys,” Jolene says in mock annoyance.

Jensen looks up at her in wide-eyed innocence and grins.

“Shift,” she orders him up brusquely. “I need to nurse although I’m not sure if I’m doing it alright. Still no milk yet.”

“Takes a couple of days,” Jensen says earnestly, getting up to give her room.

Pooch shoots him a puzzled look.

“What?” he says defensively. “I was with Sarah when she had Hannah. I mean not in the room – that would have been weird, but I was the first to hold Hannah. I was there all the time in the beginning. There are things I learned that cannot be UN-learned.”

“Congratulations,” Clay says ironically. “You have more experience than anyone else in the room. From the way Cougar’s holding that baby, I’m guessing she’s never touched one before.”

Cougar nods and smiles shyly.

Jolene eases herself down carefully on a pink donut cushion.

Cougar offers her the baby, but she shakes her head. “You’re doing alright. Let’s wait ‘til he stirs.”

Clay motions with his head and Pooch hobbles out into the corridor, followed by Jensen.

“How are you doing?” Cougar asks.

“Sore, teary, not quite like myself,” Jolene admits. “It’s nice to see you.”

Cougar gives her a sad look. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

“Don’t be,” Jolene assures her. “Pooch and I stayed up all night talking. He’s got some grovelling still to do, but I get it.”

“Did he tell you what happened?” Cougar asks softly. “What I did to end it all?”

“Yeah.”

Cougar sighs.

“Your worst nightmare come to pass.”

Cougar nods.

“But it looks like my man left some info out,” Jolene says gently. “You and Jay? He didn’t tell me that tidbit.”

Cougar smiles softly. “It’s new, he didn’t know.”

“That new?”

“Hmmm.”

The baby sighs and stretches, yawning wide. Cougar freezes. Jolene laughs softly, “Here, let’s see if I can get him to wake and nurse. Not as easy as it looks.”

“Need me to leave?”

“Heavens no. Don’t abandon me.”

Jolene takes the baby and unwraps him a bit. The baby flails, opens his eyes and his mouth, making little silent fish faces.

“Shhh,” Jolene soothes him, bringing him to her breast. He latches on with enthusiasm.

Cougar eyes them warily.

“It doesn’t hurt exactly,” Jolene explains. “Just feels weird. There are other parts of me that feel worse. Can’t sit down without my trusty donut cushion.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“So tell me about Jay,” Jolene invites. “You two were meant for each other. I’m glad you finally saw the light.”

Cougars smiles. “He’s a good guy,” she admits.

“Fuck that,” Jolene says bluntly. “How is he?”

Cougar laughs. “Let’s just say I might need to borrow your cushion. I can hardly walk.”

“Whoo hoo!” Jolene whistles in pleasure. “I knew he had potential. Just needs some training up, yeah?”

Cougar shakes her head in amusement. “To overuse the metaphor, he’s been broken to the bit already. Don’t know who taught him, but he knows some tricks.”

 

 


End file.
